The Walking Wounded
by Merlin71
Summary: The team gets tortured and this deals with what happens and the aftermath. Very dark. Very very dark in parts. Shep centered of course :D
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine in any way  
Archive: Anywhere

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**THE WALKING WOUNDED **by Merlin7

M8X-454 was a beautiful planet. It looked like paradise, reminding John of the week he had spent in Thailand on leave a few years back. Everything was lush and green and vibrant and warm. Warm, but not too warm. In fact the temperature was just about perfect. Not too humid or too dry. Just...perfect. Which, for some reason, bothered John.

"Nice place," McKay commented, as he wandered about with a scanner in one hand.

"Yeah...nice," John replied, as he wandered about as well, keeping one eye on his team at all times.

Ford looked excited. "Maybe we could ask Doctor Weir about coming here for shore leave," he piped up. "This is better than Hawaii!" He was smiling so big it looked like his face might split.

John glanced over at him, didn't quite smile back and nodded. "Yeah...maybe." He felt eyes upon him and turned to see Teyla watching him. John figured he should be used to that by now. Teyla had a way of seeing _into_ people that was a bit disconcerting. Especially since she often shared her thoughts about him, with him. They weren't always flattering. Not that John minded her honesty. In fact, he preferred it to the lies, deceptions, and illusions that most people offered. Himself included at times. "Stay alert," he ordered his team, as he moved closer to Rodney. "Got anything?" John asked, gesturing to the scanner McKay was holding.

"Nothing...wait!" Rodney's eyes went wide as he turned in a half circle, then pointed. "There...over there. I just got a huge energy spike in that direction." He started to walk off but stumbled when a hand yanked his jacket, pulling him back. "What are you doing?" Rodney snapped, glaring at Sheppard.

"Stay behind me," John countered, not taking offense at Rodney's tone. "Teyla, flank out to the left, Ford...you've got our sixes."

Ford fell into place. "Yes, sir!"

Teyla assumed her position as well.

Rodney was still glaring. "What's the matter, Major? Getting spooked in your old age?" he taunted.

"Just being cautious," John shot back, then he nudged Rodney into motion before stepping ahead of him and scanning the horizon. He felt hyped up and he couldn't explain why, but his gut instincts were telling him something was hinky, and John always listened to his gut.

"There's nothing there, Major," Rodney countered, waving one hand around them expansively. "Just very lush vegetation that I am, no doubt, highly allergic too. In fact..." he paused to sniffle and tapped the bridge of his nose, "I'm feeling very congested all of the sudden."

John rolled his eyes but felt himself relaxing a bit. Rodney was usually the one warning them of impending peril and doom, so maybe he was overreacting. But a glance over at Teyla made John feel more secure about his instincts. She was scouting the area intensely and she was being very quiet and almost feral in that way she had that told John she was on alert. She must have felt his gaze because she looked over at him then nodded. John knew she was feeling it too. The sensation that something was not quite right. He was hoping they were both wrong.

Rodney was still rambling on. "That's the thing about Paradise, you know. It can't live up to it's own hype."

"Snake in the grass syndrome," John interjected, and he glanced over his shoulder in surprise when Rodney didn't respond. He realized the scientist was focused on his scanner. "You got something?" John queried. He wasn't sure what he wanted Rodney's answer to be. A part of John wanted to head back to the gate and return to Atlantis.

"Head twenty degrees south," Rodney ordered, pointing in that direction as he spoke.

John adjusted his position and they continued on. "Another energy spike?" he guessed.

Rodney was silent for a moment, eyes still plastered to the scanner, before mumbling, "Maybe."

"Oookaay," John drawled, then he fell silent as they continued on their way. They walked on for almost an hour, guided by McKay's intermittent directions, when Sheppard sensed something and froze. For the past ten minutes he'd had the feeling of being watched and now he knew why. Something caught his eye and he turned to his left and almost gasped. Standing before him were three beings. They were human, mostly, but they seemed almost ethereal. Their skin was so pale as to seem almost translucent. Which was the last thought Sheppard had before pain exploded in his head and he felt himself falling into a blinding white abyss.

His head was throbbing. A dull, steady, ache at the base of his skull that meandered upward into his temples and then cut inwards to pound behind his eyes.

John knew he did not want to open his eyes. He didn't want to be conscious at this moment. But he suddenly remembered what had happened and he needed to know that his team members were all right, so he peeled his eyelids open and was relieved to discover he was in a dimly lit room. No, not a room...exactly. Not a cell either. No bars. It hurt to move his eyes, but John let them roam about and he figured he was in a giant box. At least that's what it looked like from his prone position. So he shifted, slowly and carefully, wincing at every tiny movement, until he was sitting up. More or less. Then he had to close his eyes again for a moment until a wave of nausea passed.

Opening his eyes again, John decided he really was in a box. A big box, but that's what the place looked like. There were no windows to be seen and only the vague outline of what must be the door. There were no furnishings at all. Nothing. No table or chair or bed. Not even a mattress. His captors were sucky hosts.

Now that he had verified his surroundings, John focused on the fact that he was alone. Very much alone. A spike of fear cut through him at the thought of his teammates. He hoped Rodney wasn't alone. McKay could talk a good game but sometimes his mouth got him into trouble. Bad trouble. John didn't want anything to happen to him. To any of them.

Pushing against the wall, John managed to rise to his feet. He had to sag against the wall for a few minutes when dizziness just about wiped him out. It was followed by a heavy wave of nausea. But once both passed he discovered he was mobile enough and made his way over to the door. No handle. He knocked until he made himself sick. Pounding on the door made the pounding in his head ten times worse. As did calling out to his captors. He got no reply.

After a time, John wandered over the nearest corner and stuffed himself into it. He could see the door from his position so he wouldn't be taken by surprise. Again. Not that it would matter. He was alone and weaponless. Whoever had the inhabitants of M8X-454 were, they had taken his weapons, his jacket and his vest. They had also taken his watch, so John had no clue how long he had been out. It also just hit him that his boots were gone and, for once, he was glad he had decided to wear socks. The room was cold and his thin tee shirt didn't offer much warmth, nor did his uniform pants. The cold of the floor seeped through the material and John realized he was shaking.

He was also tired. Very tired and his head ached and felt heavy. Drawing up his knees, John hugged them then let his forehead rest on his arms. He felt his eyes drifting closed and he gave in to the darkness.

The darkness was unsettling and filled with fragments of dreams. Scattered images of the various ghosts and demons that he tried so hard to keep locked deep inside him. John willed himself to wake up and he got his wish when rough hands gripped him and jerked him to his feet.

Eyes wide open now; John tried to dig in his heels as he was dragged towards the door. The men holding him were bigger than the people he remembered seeing before. Bigger and very strong and they shoved him out the door. He stumbled, regained his balance and glared at them. "Where are my people!" John demanded. And for his effort he was backhanded so hard he saw stars. By the time the world came back into focus, he realized his hands were bound behind him and he was now in another room. Bigger than his box and it had a window. The guards, or whoever they were, dragged him over to it.

John froze as the view before him. He was staring into a chamber that contained what looked like an operating table and strapped to the table was Lt. Ford. Strapped down with double bindings over his arms and legs and one strap over his waist, another around his throat. "What the hell are you doing to him?" John snarled at the guard closest to him. The man said nothing and it gave John the creeps. He was big and silent and pale, dressed in a dark robe with absolutely no expression on his translucent face. "What the hell do you want from us?" John needed answers. He needed to understand what was happening.

Just then a door opened and a woman entered. She was tall and pale with hair that was so black it was almost purple and it fell to her hips in a straight line. The robe she wore was dark but with ornate trim. She moved to the mirror.

"Who are you?" John asked, and he was desperate for answers. But all the woman did was reach out and touch his face. When John flinched away she gripped his chin and turned his head so that he was looking out the window. Looking at Ford. John pulled free of her touch and stared as a man in a red robe entered the chamber with Ford. The man - being - moved to the table where Ford lay strapped down and lifted one arm. From the folds of his sleeve he revealed a sharp blade that reminded John of a butcher's knife. And in that moment the unthinkable happened. The being gripped Ford's forearm and slammed the blade down, cutting Ford's hand off at the wrist.

John stopped breathing as Ford's scream rent the air. It cut through him like the knife blade and John couldn't look away from the blood that spurted from the stump of his arm. He choked on a lungful of air then gagged as bile rose up into his throat. Before he could speak or react, the being moved to the other side of the table and hacked off Ford's other hand.

"NO! NO!" John was screaming now, the bile acrid on his tongue. He felt his knees slump and a hand gripped him, pulling him back up. He turned to face the woman who was watching him with dark eyes that held no emotion. "YOU SONOFABITCH!" John screamed as he lunged at her, only to stumble as he was yanked back by the guards. "What do you want? Goddammit! What the fuck do you want?"

For a moment John wondered if she could hear him. He could barely hear himself over Ford's screams. John had never heard anything so raw and horrifying in his life. He felt as if each scream was being ripped out from inside him. "Tell me what you want?" John begged. And he would beg and plead and offer anything he could to make this stop.

The woman moved closer to him and her pale lips parted. "Where is...Earth?" she asked.

John stopped breathing again. How could she know about Earth? She couldn't know...not unless...the Wraith. She had to be connected to the Wraith. Perhaps kissing cousins. Not that it mattered. He shook his head at her. That was the one thing he couldn't give her.

"Tell me how to get to Earth and your friend will go free," she said.

"FUCK YOU!" John barely got the curse out and he was being yanked back over to the window. He wanted to pound on the glass but couldn't with his hands bound behind him. He stared at Ford who was still screaming. He stared at the blood that was staining the floor. Then he watched, horrified, as the being in the red robe moved to the end of the table and lopped off one of Ford's feet. Bare feet, John realized. And he closed his eyes and a fresh wail of agony rent through him. Fingers gripped the back of his neck and his eyes flew open and he was shoved closer to the window. They wanted him to watch Ford's agony as the other foot was cut off and it set off something in John. A spark of cold fury that quickly ignited into pure, burning, rage. He didn't care that his hands were bound. He found himself lunging at the woman, wanting to rip her to pieces even though he couldn't reach her.

John felt the blow to the back of his head. He welcomed the bloom of pain. He almost sighed in relief as the sound of Ford's screams became muffled until they faded into silence. Then he faded into black.


	2. Chapter 2

_There was blood. So much blood. Everywhere. Blood soaking his skin, staining it like permanent ink. He could feel its slickness, cooling down and gelling into his flesh. He could smell it, stinging his nostrils, and taste it like copper on his tongue, too sweet and gagging him._

"NO!"

John jerked awake, wincing at the pain that stabbed through the base of his skull and up into his temples. He felt cold and aching, body sprawled on the hard floor. Without opening his eyes he knew where he was. Back in his box. He blinked his eyes open, willing the image of Ford's butchered body to fade from his mind. But he could still see it so clearly; still hear the echoes of Ford's screams ringing in his ears.

Moving slowly, John managed to sit up without vomiting the bile that was pooled in his throat. He felt sick and shaky and it was more than a physical reaction, it was soul-deep. He felt as if he were trapped in some horrific nightmare. He wanted this to be nothing more than a bad dream he would eventually wake up from, but he knew it was all too real. Ford was dead. John prayed to god that Ford was dead.

In the beginning, when he'd first set foot on Atlantis, John had gotten the chance to get to know Ford better. They had sort of "hung out" for want of a better definition. Ford had almost been under his feet at times, but John had understood why. Nothing had prepared any of them for encountering the Wraith and everything that had happened since that moment. Like the death of Colonel Sumner. To John's surprise, Ford had been the first one to congratulate him on being named the head of the military contingent on Atlantis. John had half expected him to be pissed off by the fact John had killed his CO. But Ford had understood what John had done, perhaps even better than John had. At least in the beginning.

Ford had been the one constant on Atlantis. The one person whom John felt had never really changed since coming there. He was earnest and levelheaded and high on life. John closed his eyes at that thought. Ford was better off dead. He would hate existing without hands and feet. Without the ability to be mobile on his own. Ford had been a body in motion and it was John's fault he was no longer the man he used to be.

Swiping the back of one hand over his burning eyes, John once again prayed that Ford was dead.

But that left Rodney and Teyla. He managed to rise to his feet and stumble over to the door. He had to find out about Rodney and Teyla. He needed to know that they were all right or, at least, that they were alive. Raising one hand, John pounded on the door. After a moment he stopped and shouted, "HEY! ANYBODY OUT THERE? I WANT TO TALK TO YOU?"

Falling into silence, John waited. The seconds stretched into minutes then he was pounding again, then shouting. Finally screaming. But no one came. After a time his knees buckled and John collapsed to the floor, pressing his forehead to the coolness, willing it to ease the thudding ache in his head. Images danced in his head. Images of Rodney and Teyla and all the horrible things that that women...creature...might do to them. Things worse than what had been done to Ford. John knew that worse could be done. Panic spiked through him, cold and sharp, and John couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him. He couldn't stop the fear.

He didn't remember crawling over to the corner and stuffing himself into it, but suddenly he was curling up as tight as he could, arms gripping his knees as he tried to stop shaking. Eventually it subsided, as did the roiling in his stomach. Eventually his eyes drifted closed.

John hadn't expected to fall asleep. He was rather sorry he did. Awake or asleep, he couldn't shake the image of Ford strapped to the table. He couldn't ignore the screams that echoed in his head. Pushing out of the corner, John winced as stiff muscles protested his movement and his head was still pounding. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble against his palm. Not thicker than he remember so he wondered how much time had passed.

Rising to his feet, John began to walk in a circle only to stop when he spotted a cup near the door. Someone had been there while he was sleeping. John walked over to the cup and knelt down to pick it up. He stared at the contents. It looked like water. He sniffed it. No odor or scent. Stabbed a finger in it and studied it. Wet. A cautious lick and it tasted like water. His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper, after all his shouting, so John took a chance. He took a few sips then set the cup back down. Then he rose to his feet and began walking again, needing to be in motion. Wishing he could run away from his own thoughts.

But after a time his knees buckled again and John didn't even try to catch himself. He heard the thud of his own body as he hit the floor, felt the hard coldness of the floor as he lay sprawled on his back. He didn't care. He was pretty sure the water had been drugged and he didn't care. In fact he welcomed the darkness that swirled over him with open arms.

He came awake to hands pulling him to his feet. He felt dizzy and his stomach was coiling into knots and he had to swallow hard not to vomit as his wrists were bound behind his back. John stumbled as he was dragged out of the room and by the time he had blinked away the fuzziness that marred his vision, he was standing in the room with the window. The woman was there, no expression on her face as he was pushed over to her. John turned away from her, looking out the window instead. He couldn't not look.

The first thing he noticed was how clean the room was. Pristine white and gleaming. There was no blood. No sign that Ford had ever been there. Nothing to remind him of the horrific butchery that had been performed. That shook John more than he would have expected. Maybe even more than the sight of Teyla, who was the one now strapped to the table. It shook him because it was as if Ford's very existence had been wiped away.

"Where is Earth?"

John whirled to face the woman, anger burning in his eyes. Anger and frustration and fear, but he tried to hide the latter; he tried to school his expression into something resembling neutral. "I won't tell you that!" he shot back, with much less conviction than he had intended. His voice was too soft and raspy to be sharp and controlled.

The woman simply watched him.

Instinct made John turn back to the window and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he watched a robed man enter the room and move to Teyla's side. The same man who had butchered Ford. He had a different blade in his hand this time. Smaller and more elegant. It reminded John of a stiletto. He felt his gut twist sharply and he twisted his head to glare at the woman. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded. If he understood, if it was something beyond the obvious, then maybe he could deal with it better. Maybe he would be able to figure out how to fix things. How to save his people. To save who was left.

The woman said nothing, she just continued to watch him, and when John turned back to the window he caught his breath. The robed man was cutting patterns in Teyla's face, marring the beautiful visage, cutting deep enough that John knew there would be scars. If she lived. "STOP THIS!" John hadn't meant to scream the words. He wanted it to be a command, and he wanted to be obeyed. But he looked at the woman and he knew his nightmare had just begun. Shoulders slumping in defeat, John made a counter offer. "Torture me...please." He was being a coward but he couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't watch the pain.

"Where is Earth?" the woman asked again.

"No." John shook his head. There was nothing more to say. He closed his eyes, tasting Teyla's death in his mouth when a heavy hand dropped to the back of his neck and he was forced against the window. John kept his eyes shut tight until a hoarse scream pierced through him. Teyla's scream. His eyes flew open and John stared at the blood that was welling up from her perfect belly.

The robed man was cutting into her with the delicate precision of a surgeon. Cutting into deep, laying Teyla open. John bit his lip when Teyla screamed again, the sound of her voice mingling with Ford's in his ears. "What do you want?" John asked the woman, his eyes still locked on Teyla's body. There was so much blood that it was dripping onto the floor. Idly he thought that they would have to scrub it clean again before bringing in McKay.

That was when John turned to her and demanded, "What the fuck do you want?"

The woman's thin lips curved upward. "Where is Earth?"

John wanted to tell her. He ached to tell her. If he didn't tell her then Rodney would die. Ford was dead and Teyla was bleeding out. Already her screams were fading and John wished his hands were free so he could plug his ears. He wished he could tell the woman what she wanted to know. He wished he was the one on the table, bleeding out. It should have been him on the table instead of Ford. Now Teyla. He shook his head. "Can't tell you that."

Suddenly the screams stopped, abruptly, and John turned back to the window and froze. The bastard with the stiletto had slit her throat. So deeply that her head was tilted to the right, despite the strap that was wrapped over her forehead to hold her still. The silence should have been a blessing, but it mocked John. He turned to the woman. "I will fucking kill you!" He snarled, and he was glad he was angry again; it was better than anything else. Stronger. It made him stronger.

"Where is Earth?" She was looking out the window as she spoke.

John reacted without thinking, not caring that he couldn't follow through. He lunged for the woman, managing to slam into her and send her into the window before hardness cracked against his skull. John never felt himself falling.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't want to open his eyes. Because maybe, just maybe, if he kept them closed this would all be nothing more than some horrific nightmare. Then, eventually, he would wake up in his room on Atlantis. Or, worst case scenario, in the infirmary. Which, given the sickening throbbing ache in his head, wouldn't have surprised John all that much. But he knew it wasn't a dream. And keeping his eyes closed was worse than keeping them open. When his eyes were closed he could see, all too clearly, the bloodstained corpses of Ford and Teyla.

So John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his box. There were no tiles or holes or even cracks to count. Nothing to distract him from this terrible reality. He didn't move because the floor beneath him was just cold enough to make his body feel almost numb. Almost. But he did flinch when he sensed the door opening.

Slowly, painfully, John sat up, swallowing hard against the bile that pooled in his throat. He pushed himself back till he hit the wall, then he drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his palms against the floor as he watched the door swing all the way open.

A guard he didn't recognize stepped in with a cup of what John knew would be water. He watched him set it on the floor, the translucent face expressionless. "Why are you doing this?" John asked. Because maybe this creature would answer him, where the woman would not.

Other than to stiffen, the guard remained silent, but he did stare at John. John stared back. "I'm going to kill you," he whispered, but he knew the guard heard him by the way the pale eyes flickered. And that was when John launched himself forward, because he knew it would not be expected of him. He slammed into the guard's torso, riding him down to the floor, the jarring motion of impact sending waves up pain welling up his body to crash in his head. But John fought the dizziness and he managed to wrap his fingers around the guard's throat. He squeezed for all he was worth. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" he shouted, although his voice was more raspy than sharp. Still, he was pretty sure he got his point across, as the pale eyes bulged in the pale face.

And suddenly he didn't even want an answer. All John wanted was to squeeze the life out of the guard. He couldn't reach the man in the robe, the being that had butchered Ford and Teyla, but he could kill this pale bastard and, by god, he would do just that.

But even this little victory was to be denied him. John was so focused on the guard thrashing in his grip that he didn't even hear two more enter the room. Steel hands grabbed him, hauling him away, and he turned on them, becoming something feral and wild and vicious, but he wasn't strong enough to last long or inflict enough damage and suddenly he found himself flung across the room. John felt the impact his body made against the wall, then he saw a bright flash of light, which turned into molten pain that rippled across his ribcage, and he crumpled to the floor and curled up into a ball. Maybe this was okay. Maybe if they broke him they would leave McKay alone.

Time must have slipped past him, although he didn't remember blacking out, but suddenly soft hands were touching his face, smoothing back his sweat-dampened hair, and wetness touched his lips and John sucked in a mouthful of water. It tasted sweet and pure and almost ached going down his throat. Then he felt coolness on his face and he blinked hard and a pale face came into focus. A woman he hadn't seen before. Like the others she was expressionless, her pale eyes wide as they stared at him. John didn't stare back. He simply closed his eyes as she continued her ministrations. Cooling him and cleaning him and he drifted into shadowy darkness where only the silhouettes of dead bodies danced behind his eyelids.

He didn't hear her leave, but he heard footsteps approaching and opened his eyes and the guards were there. John didn't move. He let himself be dragged to his feet. He waited for them to bind his wrists, but they didn't do that this time and that sent a spike of cold fear shooting up from the pit of his stomach.

Not surprisingly they returned to the room with the window and the woman was there. He waited for her to ask her question. _Where is Earth? _John waited and waited and had to bite his lip hard, tasting blood, so that he wouldn't scream at her. She was psyching him out and it was working. So he turned away, turned to look out the window, and he wasn't surprised that the room was clean and sparkling white again. Nor was he surprised to see Rodney strapped down on the table.

John felt a shudder ripple through him and he crossed his arms over his aching ribs and didn't look at the woman as he whispered, "I won't tell you where Earth is." He would do anything else though. Anything to save Rodney from whatever horrific fate awaited him. They could do worse than they had already done. John had seen worse. Worse done to strangers, not friends.

The woman said nothing.

The door in the chamber opened and the man in the robe stepped inside. John stared at his hands. In one he held what looked like a shish kabob skewer. In the other he held the same stiletto blade he had used on Teyla. John felt his stomach coil into knots. He watched as another robed figure entered the room, moving to stand at Rodney's head. He reached up pressed one hand to Rodney's forehead, the other gripped Rodney's chin and forced his jaw open. John felt his own jaw tighten when the butcher boy reached into Rodney's mouth and pulled on his tongue. He didn't want to look but he couldn't close his eyes fast enough as the stiletto blade sliced through Rodney's tongue.

The hoarse, guttural, cry that erupted from Rodney shattered something inside of John. He was glad his hands were free so that he could cover his ears. But the cries didn't last long before the blood began to choke Rodney. But the choking didn't last long because the robed man had poked the sharp end of the thin skewer into Rodney's left temple. John watched in detached fascination, as the end soon poked out the other side. Rodney fell silent abruptly.

John closed his eyes now and sent up a little prayer that Rodney was already dead. Just the thought of him living with brain damage, even for a moment, shook John to his core. Another thing shook him as well. The silence. This time there was nothing but silence. He opened his eyes and the woman was staring at him. Waiting for him to answer her question, John knew. But instead he began to laugh. It made his ribs ache and pain throb in his temples but he didn't care. "You killed them all," he told her. "There's no one left." Except for himself. But John stopped laughing and looked into her pale eyes and he knew that she would not kill him. Maybe because, in this moment, he wanted it so very much. "Fuck you..." John said, but without any real anger behind it. He was too numb to be angry. But not numb enough.

He stared as she stared back and then she turned and walked out of the room. John watched her go until the guards came and escorted him back to his box. He walked into it on his own and didn't care when they locked him in. He paced the room from corner to corner, each footstep making his head pound. But he welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.

But it couldn't keep the image of Rodney, strapped down on the table, blood pooling from his mouth, his blue eyes wide open, frozen and vacant and John's stomach twisted then. There was a bucket in the corner and he ran to it, fell onto his knees and puked until he brought up nothing but blood-tinged bile. Next to the bucket were a soft cloth and a cup of water. John rinsed his mouth then wiped his face then he crawled into the farthest corner.

He watched the door open and someone new came in and took the bucket. They said nothing. John had nothing left to say. He watched them go then curled up into a ball and wondered if he might die in his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

John didn't die. He dozed, in snatches, only to dream. About Sumner, the Genii, Ford, Teyla, and Rodney.

He was still stuffed in the corner, not moving. He just sat there, body tense, every muscle wound taut and aching. He figured Weir would send someone after them and John prayed they wouldn't come. He didn't want to be rescued. He didn't want to have to go back to Atlantis and tell Weir that everyone was dead. He didn't want to explain to her how he couldn't save them. John could not accept that kind of failure.

Failure was not acceptable at any level, but he was a realist and had long ago learned to accept that which he could not change. Accept it in general. But the echoes of all his failures resonated deep within him. Dex and Mitch from before Atlantis. Sumner and others since coming to Atlantis. And now his team. Ford, Teyla and Rodney. Gone. Because he failed.

John knew he had been powerless to stop their deaths. He could not choose them over Earth. Three people over billions. But that did not lighten the weight of the guilt that was pressing down upon him. He could feel it smothering him and he wished it was enough to crush him in this moment. But it would be his burden to bear for the rest of his miserable life.

The door to the box opened, silently, and John stirred but did not otherwise react. He no longer cared what happened to him. So when two guards pulled him to his feet, he didn't fight them. When they took him to the room where his teammates had been slaughtered, John was not surprised. He did not resist as they pushed him down onto the table. He lay, unmoving, as he was strapped down. Whatever pain they inflicted, he would welcome it.

He looked around the room in the moment before a strap was laid over his forehead, holding his head in place. The room was bright and clean again. Nothing left behind to remind him of what had happened. Not a speck of blood to be found. John let his eyes drift closed until he sensed a presence. He opened his eyes and the woman was beside him, leaning over him so he could see her. "I won't tell you where Earth is," John said softly. "I'll die first." He stared into her pale eyes but they reflected nothing.

Then the robed man suddenly appeared and seeing him brought back a rush of images that played out in John's head. Ford and Teyla and Rodney soaked in blood. The sounds of their screams echoed in his ears and John wished his hands were free so he could cover them. But suddenly the sounds and images faded and John found himself staring at the stiletto blade that had sliced Teyla's throat and cut out Rodney's tongue. It was clean and bright and hovering over his face. He knew what was coming.

"Where is Earth," asked the woman.

John laughed and said nothing. He saw the robed man's arm move then white-fire was exploding in his left eye. He heard himself scream, his throat becoming raw in seconds. The pain shattered him into tiny pieces, but he didn't care. He could focus on the pain and it kept him sane. This was better than the guilt, better than fear. It was better to suffer as his team had suffered. He didn't realize he had stopped screaming until something brushed his cheek.

Her hand. It was cold. She stroked his face and asked, "Where is Earth?"

He wouldn't tell her and they both knew it. John derived only a tiny bit of satisfaction from the fact that they, he and his team, would all die and the woman would have nothing to show for it. Not that she cared. But it had to mean something. John would make it mean something. He couldn't see too well out of his good eye. Everything was a blur. But he saw the shape of a blade in the moment before it plunged into his eye and this time he didn't hear himself scream.

He woke up with a jolt of awareness. He was curled on his side and he could feel the cold sweat that slicked his skin and made him feel damp, made him shiver. Pain burned in his eyes, reminding him of a sickening truth. He was blind. John shuddered at the thought, one hand lifting to his face, feeling the bandages wrapped around his useless eyes. His stomach clenched but he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He didn't have the energy to be sick.

This was unexpected. Being alive. John had thought, when the blade had plunged into his other eye that he would not wake up again. And he had wanted death, he ached for it now. What was left? He had nothing to give them. Pushing himself upright, John scooted back until he hit a wall, then he felt his way into the corner. He pushed himself into it, knees drawn up to his chest. He wondered how long they would keep him alive. He wondered if it mattered.

How long he sat there he didn't know, but then he sensed a presence, just before a hand touched his face. He knew it was her. John didn't flinch away from her. There was nothing more she could do to hurt him. He no longer had any reason to fear her. So he simply waited and he was surprised when she took his hand and pressed something into his palm. John raised his other hand to feel it. A knife. In that moment he understood what she was offering him. He had been praying for death and now it was being given to him. He wondered why she would do this, not that it really mattered. He was almost grateful. Almost.

Reaching out to her with a shaky hand, John whispered, "Help me." He was relieved when she grabbed his hand and he didn't hesitate. He yanked her forward, into the blade. She didn't scream. She didn't make a sound, but John felt something warm and wet flow over the fingers holding the knife. He felt her body shudder. He held on to her as she clawed at his hand and then...nothing.

He felt nothing at all.

"Major? Major, can you hear me?"

John heard the voice but ignored it. Ford was dead.

"Major Sheppard, it is Teyla. You must try to wake up now."

He heard the urgency in her tone. Heard the fear. But she was dead too. Still, he felt compelled to open his eyes. To see what trick was being played upon him. To John's surprise, Teyla's face loomed over him. It was blurry so he blinked hard and he inhaled a gasp of surprise to realize he could see her. He wasn't blind. John slapped a hand to his face, feeling his eyes beneath closed lids then opening them to stare at his hand. Then he shifted his gaze to Teyla's concerned face. She was pale and her eyes looked huge and glassy. But she was beautiful. He golden skin was unmarred. John realized she was shaking. The hand on his arm was trembling. Feeling himself tremble, John pushed himself up so that he was sitting. He turned his head and Ford was standing there, looking as Shaky as Teyla, skin ashen-looking. "McKay?" John croaked.

"Present, present," Rodney muttered from behind him.

John turned and relief washed over him in waves. His team was alive. Alive. Yet that was impossible. He looked at them and whispered, "You're...alive."

Ford nodded. "Yes, sir. Seems like."

"What happened?" John struggled to his feet as he asked the question, body protesting. He curled an arm around his aching ribs and let Teyla help him stand.

"Not sure, sir," Ford replied.

Rodney had been pacing but now he pushed past Ford to face Sheppard. "We were separated. Me, Ford and Teyla were locked in some...cage. No windows. They took you somewhere else. We thought..." Rodney broke off and swallowed hard.

Teyla finished for him, her eyes locked on Sheppard's face. "We thought you might be dead."

"How long?" John asked, glancing at his watch. But it had stopped.

"We don't know," Ford replied. "Felt like forever." He shuddered.

John realized that his team looked, and acted, as if they were in shock. When he looked into their eyes he could see sheer terror. They were afraid. He understood that all too well. But he also understood that he had to be in control. That he had to be strong for them. "What happened to you?" He needed to understand if he was going to help them.

Teyla replied. "We were tortured." She did not look at him as she spoke. "At least, we thought we were. We never left the room we were in but we all felt as if...as if we were tortured and..."

"Killed," John interjected, sharply. "Butchered to death!" He felt sick again and he couldn't stop his stomach from clenching up. He fell to his knees and vomited until he brought up nothing but bile. He felt a hand on his back. Teyla's firm touch. "I'm okay," he told her, as he struggled to his feet. She gripped his arm to help then handed him a handkerchief. John didn't ask where she got it from or why she was carrying it. He wiped his face then fished in his vest pocket for the pack of gum he always carried. Only now realizing that they were still in full gear. His P90 was still clipped to him.

"You saw?" Rodney moved over to face him. "You saw what happened to us?"

John popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed hard before nodding. "Yes. I saw it all. I'm sorry." It was a useless thing to say, but he felt the need to say it.

Teyla touched his arm. "Did they torture you as well?"

"No." John wasn't sure why he lied, but it was out before he could stop it. "It wasn't real anyway. They were messing with our heads." And that, for some reason, scared him all the more.

"It felt real," Rodney whispered.

John watched him brush a hand over his mouth, as if reliving the moment his tongue had been cut out. The image was burned in John's head and his stomach clenched. He turned away, evened out his breathing, and then put on his team leader face. "Did anyone try contacting Atlantis?"

Ford snapped to attention. "No, sir. We woke up here, just a little while ago. Then we tried to wake you up. I didn't think...I'm sorry."

"It's okay." John moved to Ford and clapped him on the shoulder and it felt good when Ford reached up and gripped his forearm. Ford with both hands in place and standing on both feet. "We'll try now." John tapped his earpiece. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. Do you read?"

A long moment of silence then a crackle of static and Weir's voice.

"We read you, Colonel. Where the hell have you been?"

"Good question," John replied. "How long were we out of contact?"

A pause then, "Thirty-six hours. I was just getting ready to send another team after you."

John froze. Only thirty-six hours? That didn't seem possible. He looked at his teammates and they looked as shocked as he felt. John was sure they had been gone for at least three or four days. "Well...glad you didn't," he shot back. "I think we can cross this place off the list of trade possibilities."

"What happened, Major?" Weir's voice sounded relieved, but still demanding.

"Tell you when we get back," John replied, then he tapped off. "Ford, dial the gate." And it should have been a shock to him that they were right next to the gate yet, somehow, it wasn't. He watched the Lieutenant do his bidding and a moment later the puddle formed. John exhaled a shaky breath then smiled at the others. "Let's go home."

He watched as Ford stepped through, followed by Rodney then Teyla. Before stepping through himself, John took one last look behind him. He found himself touching his eyes once more, expecting to find bandages. Expecting this to just be some fevered dream or hallucination. But then he shook himself and stepped through the gate. It was time to go home.


	5. Chapter 5

John sat in the chair across from Elizabeth's desk. He couldn't slouch into it like he normally would because his ribs protested the position and he felt too wired and taut to be able to relax that much. So he sat stiffly, fingertips drumming against his thigh. He had sent his teammates on ahead to the infirmary. He wanted Beckett to check them over, so he could know that they really were okay. Officially. Physically. John knew they were fucked up emotionally and mentally. This wasn't something they could just bury inside them and pretend to move on. Even though that was exactly what he was going to try to do.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, as she moved to sit behind her desk.

"I'm not sure," John replied. He was going to be as honest with her as he could. At least about the mission and the others.

Elizabeth sighed and rubbed hard at the bridge of her nose. "Your team...they look shell-shocked."

John winced at that. He knew Elizabeth wanted to know what had happened, but he wasn't sure how to explain it to her. He wasn't sure he could explain it to himself. The sticking point was that he couldn't let himself be emotional right now. He had to find a way to detach himself. He had to figure things out so he could help his teammates. So he gave himself a mental shake and tried to focus on nothing more than giving her the facts.

"I don't know who the people on the planet were. We weren't there long when we were stunned...or something. I woke up in some room, alone. I didn't know where the others were at first. Then I was brought to this room and watched them being tortured..." John broke off a moment, needing to clear his throat. He felt Elizabeth's gaze hard upon him and he couldn't meet her eyes as he continued. "They were butchered. They did to make me tell them where Earth was."

"But your team is alive," Elizabeth interjected.

John nodded and stared at a spot on the wall behind her. "I know. It happened in our minds. They were in our heads somehow. Teyla said they experienced what I was seeing, even though nothing was actually happening to them physically." The spot on the wall started to blur and John blinked hard. "I thought they were all dead."

Elizabeth looked stunned. "What about you, John? Did they torture you too?"

"No." He whispered the lie.

"So none of it was real." Elizabeth spoke uncertainly.

John swallowed down the bile that was pooling in his throat and managed to look at her. "No. It wasn't real. But it...it felt real." He resisted the urge to close his eyes in an attempt to banish the images that were forming in his head. Ford and Teyla and Rodney all bloody and butchered, their screams echoing in his head.

Elizabeth came around her desk and touched his shoulder, pulling back when he jumped. "Sorry."

"It's okay." John forced a smile. "I'm just a little jumpy."

"How did you get away?"

That was the question he had been asking himself and John still didn't have an answer. If the torture wasn't real, was the woman's death nothing more than an illusion? He wished he knew. "I don't know," he replied. "To be honest, right now...I don't care how we did it. I'm just glad we're back."

Elizabeth eyed him with concern. "I'm glad too. But...you must have done something to escape. Or was it like when we thought we had gone home?"

"Could be." John had thought about that. "I stabbed the woman who kept asking me about Earth and then I suddenly woke up with everyone around me. They're pretty sure they were in a room together, and I'm pretty sure I was locked up too. Maybe not."

"How did she know about Earth?" Elizabeth looked rattled at the thought.

John felt an ache in his temples that was turning into a stabbing pain that made it hard to focus. But he tried to answer the question. "I was thinking maybe they're connected to the Wraith. That or they could read our thoughts, delve into our minds and see everything. Only...if that were the case, then they'd know where Earth was."

Elizabeth relaxed a bit at his words. "Makes sense."

"As much as anything does right now," John allowed, pushing himself out of the chair. He felt too anxious to remain stationary, but when he stood up he rocked on his feet as dizziness washed over him.

"We can finish this later," Elizabeth stated, grabbing his arm to steady him. "I'll walk you to the infirmary."

John didn't argue. He wanted to see how the others were doing.

They walked to the infirmary in silence. John could feel the tension that thrummed throughout his body, shooting up into his head to cause a band of pain from temple to temple. He knew he needed to relax. He needed to be ready to deal with his teammates. He was the only one who could truly understand what they had suffered through and he needed to be there for him. He needed to be strong.

When they reached the infirmary, John stepped ahead of Elizabeth, moving to the beds in the corner where Rodney, Teyla and Ford resided. They were all sitting up and their eyes locked upon him as he approached. John smiled at them then looked over at Beckett who was scribbling on a chart. "How are they?" he asked the doctor.

Carson finished what he was writing then set aside the clipboard before replying. "They're in shock, dehydrated and exhausted...but otherwise they appear fine."

"_They_ are right here!" Rodney interjected, snottily. But his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

"I've contacted Heightmeyer and she'll speak with each of you tomorrow. I want everyone to get some rest first," Carson stated firmly.

John nodded. He was glad to hear about Heightmeyer. He knew his team would need to talk to her, even though he had doubts that the psychiatrist would really be able to understand what had happened. Regardless, she was the most qualified person to help them deal with their emotions. John knew he would be able to offer moral support and whatever strength they needed, but they would need so much more than that. As for himself, he would wheedle his way out of an actual session. There was nothing she could do to help him. He would deal with what had happened on his own. The way he always did.

Carson touched Sheppard on the arm. "Your turn, major. Hop up on the bed there." He pointed to the one next to where Teyla was sitting.

"In a minute," John countered. "I just want to make sure everyone is okay." He moved to face Rodney. "Did you have anything to eat?"

"Powerbars and juice," Rodney replied. "We all have." He pointed to the empty wrappers on the bed tables, and empty glasses.

John glanced at them but his focus was on his team. He glanced at Teyla who looked stoic but Shaken, and Ford who looked like he was about to throw up. John then looked at Rodney again. At the hands that were worrying at the hem of the blue uniform science shirt. "We're home and we're safe," John said firmly.

Ford spoke up from his corner. "Doesn't feel like it, sir. Not really."

"Ford-" John began, but Weir cut him off.

"I know that you're all tired and that you've been through a traumatic experience, but can you tell me what happened?" Weir queried. "Major Sheppard told me a little, but I'd like a bit more details."

Teyla spoke first. "They tortured us," she said quietly. "They cut my face then cut my throat."

Weir shuddered. "God...I'm sorry."

"It was awful," Ford stated. He was staring at his hands. "He cut them off. My hands and my feet...he just...he cut them off." He stopped, voice choking, chest heaving for a moment as if he might be sick.

"It's okay...it's over now." John was by Ford's side, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

Rodney slid off the gurney and started pacing. "They cut my tongue out," he mumbled, fingertips lifting to brush his lips. "I was...I was choking, on the blood." He started to say more but he bent over, gagging.

Carson seemed to recognize the signs. He ran over with a bedpan and got it under Rodney's chin just before he vomited his stomach contents.

Weir turned to look at Sheppard, eyes wide with horror. "I didn't realize...I'm sorry. You...you said you saw it happen? All of it?"

"Yes." John realized his tone was sharp but he couldn't help it. The images were dancing in his head again, causing the pain in his temples to spike hot and white, reminding him, all too vividly, of the skewer that had been driven through Rodney's head. He closed his eyes but the images didn't fade, nor did the pain.

"Major?"

He opened his eyes to realize Beckett was trying to draw him over to the medbed. John blinked hard, feeling the eyes of everyone upon him. He looked over at Rodney who was sitting in a nearby chair. "You okay?" John asked.

Rodney shook his head. "No...I'm not."

"Up on the bed now," Carson insisted.

John slid onto it, wincing at the pull to his ribs. He watched as Carson pull the privacy curtain then remained silent as he was poked and prodded. This pain was nothing compared to what he remembered feeling. This pain helped to keep him grounded.

Carson was making tutting noises beneath his breath and shaking his head. "You seem to be worse off than the others, Major," he said finally. "I'm going to keep you overnight. I'll hook you up to an IV and give you a little something for the pain I know you're in." He brushed a hand lightly over Sheppard's bruised side. "I should probably take an X-ray but we'll hold off for now. I want you to tell me if you have any difficulty breathing."

"I'm fine." John said it with conviction, needing to convince himself as much as Beckett. Maybe more so. The ribs were nothing, they would heal and the bruises would fade. It was the memory of what had been done, the horrific illusion he and the others had suffered through that had left a permanent mark on his soul. But he had to get past it. "I'll rest in my room," John promised.

"Maybe tomorrow," Carson shot back. "You're spending the night here. I'm going to send the others off to shower and sleep though. They can come visit with you tomorrow. Now rest a minute and I'll bring you some scrubs."

John slid off the bed. "I need to shower." He had to at least try and wash away the memory of the pain. The cold sweat that had slicked his skin had been real enough and the stench of it filled his nostrils, making the memories burn fresh and vivid in his head. A wave of dizziness hit him and he swayed, knees buckling, and he probably would have fallen had Beckett not grabbed him by the arm.

"Sit down, Major," Carson ordered, gruffly.

"I'm good." John locked his knees then locked eyes with Beckett. "I need to shower." He could feel the slickness of blood on his skin. Blood that had never touched him.

Carson cursed then reached in his lab coat pocket and pulled out his penlight. He shone it in Sheppard's eyes then stuffed it back in his pocket before lifting his hands to the back of Sheppard's head, gently feeling around with his fingertips.

John flinched at Beckett brushed over a sore spot. "Easy, doc." He pulled away, closing his eyes against the surge of throbbing pain in his temples.

"Were you unconscious for any length of time?" Carson asked, his tone quiet but firm.

"Maybe...but not for long," John lied. "I've had concussions before...I'd recognize if I had one. Can I shower now? I'm tired." He knew going for sympathy would work with Beckett and he was right.

Carson sighed and nodded. "All right then, have your shower. Do you need some help?"

John managed a shaky smile. "No...I'm good. Just drop off some scrubs." He was already turning and pushing aside the curtain as he spoke. He was a little surprised to realize the rest of his team were already gone. As was Elizabeth. It shook John for a moment. He felt more alone than he had in his box, after everyone had died. "Thought they had died," John muttered to himself as he moved towards the bathroom in the back. Once inside he made certain the door was locked then he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

For a long time John focused on nothing but the hot water slicing over his skin. It warmed him even as it soothed the ache in his ribs. He lifted his face, thinking the water a bit cooler, and let it ease the throbbing in his temples. Reaching for the shampoo, John scrubbed his head, rinsed then washed up. He found himself almost raking his fingernails over his skin as he lathered his body. He still felt cold and dirty and stained with blood.

Knees buckling, John slid down the shower wall, tucking himself into the corner like he had so many times in his box. Only he was wondering now if any of that had been real. If anything was real anymore. He sat in the corner until he heard Beckett calling his name, replaying the images of Ford and Teyla and Rodney being tortured. He blinked hard and pushed himself to his feet when Beckett's shouting turned panicked. "Be right out!" John called to him. He rinsed off again, turned the water off, stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He had a smile plastered on his face as he opened the door.

Carson's eyes ran over him. "You all right, Major? You had me worried there."

"I'm fine, just tired. The water felt good." John reached the scrubs that were scrunched in Beckett's hand. "I'll just get dressed."

"Aye…I'll be waiting for you. I've got a mug of soup and an IV with your name on it."

John nodded. "Yay me." He closed the door, dropped the towel and got dressed. He could do this. He could bury the memories and deal with the aftermath. Because he wasn't in this alone. He had his team to think about and they needed him. He could fall apart on his own time. When he was retired or something.

Laughter bubbled out of John with an edge of hysteria to it and he tamped it down. He had to be alright. He had to be.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up, choking a bit as he swallowed down a scream. John could feel the cold sweat that sheened his skin, he could feel his body trembling in the wake of his dreams. He blinked hard to bring his hands into focus, almost surprised that they were clean. In his dream he could feel the warm blood that slicked his skin. Ford's blood. Ford and Teyla and Rodney's blood.

"Major."

He jumped at the soft voice, jumped again when a warm hand touched his face. "Sorry," John apologized, automatically, as he stared into Teyla's concerned eyes. "What...what are you doing here? It's late...isn't it?" He glanced at his wrist but there was no watch, just the IV needle taped to the back of his hand.

Teyla nodded. "It is late."

"Then why are you here?" John prompted, shifting about so that he was sitting up more against the pillows. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a familiar form on the bed next to him. "Is that Rodney?" John pointed.

"Yes."

Instinct made John turn his head to check the bed on his other side. Not surprisingly, Ford was curled up there. "What are you guys doing here? I thought Beckett sent you off to rest?"

Teyla lowered the bed rail so that she could sit on the side of the bed. "He did send us to our rooms, but we all wandered back here." Her tone was soft and her eyes remained locked on her hands as she continued. "We did not wish to alone, and we felt the need to be close to you."

"Oh." John hadn't expected to hear that, even as he understood it. He reached out for Teyla's hand, capturing one in his and feeling how she trembled. "We'll get through this, Teyla," John said firmly. He wanted her to believe that. He wanted to believe it himself.

"Eventually," she allowed.

John had nothing to say to that. He glanced over at Rodney then Ford. "At least they're able to sleep."

Teyla almost smiled. "Dr. Beckett gave them something to help them rest."

"What about you?" John countered. She looked drawn and tired and he knew she was as exhausted as he felt.

"I did not wish to be sedated, but then I could not sleep when I dreamed." The confession seemed rung out of her.

John squeezed her hand. "Dreaming sucks," he allowed, trying to lighten the mood. But it was hard to shake off the images of his own nightmares. "Maybe you should ask for something."

Teyla shrugged, then squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I know that Dr. Beckett wishes for us to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer about what happened, but I do not wish to discuss it with her. Not now. I do think I am ready to share this with anyone and I know that Dr. McKay and Aiden feel the same way."

"Teyla..." John began, only to fall silent when he heard footsteps approaching. The night nurse looked concerned as she reached them.

"Major Sheppard, are you in pain?" she asked.

He started to shake his head but thought better of it when his temples throbbed. He was hurting but he almost welcomed the pain. Welcomed it because he knew it was real. "No...I'm fine," he assured her. "But I think Teyla could use a little something to help her sleep." He sensed Teyla's refusal and locked eyes with her. "You need to rest." He was pleased when she finally nodded, sliding off his bed and allowing the nurse to lead her to her own in the corner.

John let his eyes drift closed as he listened to Teyla settling in. He must have dozed off for a moment because a touch on his arm jolted him awake and John opened his eyes to find the nurse eyeing him with concern. "Could I have some water?" John asked. His throat felt dry and scratchy. The nurse handed him a cup with a straw and he took a few swallows before handing it back. "Thanks."

She was checking his IV then she nodded. "Dr. Beckett left instructions that I'm to give you something for pain and to help you sleep. You need to rest, Major."

"The pain is doable and I'm tired enough to sleep on my own," John assured her. He could see she had her doubts, but eventually she let him be, slipping silently away. Once she was gone, John gave up any pretense of trying to sleep. Instead he shifted up a bit more so he could watch his teammates.

Ford was twitching in his sleep and mumbling beneath his breath. John found himself wanting to slip out of bed to touch him. To see for himself, yet again, that his second in command had his hands and feet attached. But John didn't leave his bed or touch Ford for fear of waking him.

He turned his head to stare at Rodney. He looked eerily still and John leaned closer, wanting to make sure he was breathing. He wished McKay would say something, to remind John that his tongue was till intact. A moment later he got his wish when Rodney cried out, a choked sound, then he was sitting up, eyes wide and wild, one hand clapped over his mouth.

John knew he was caught up in a nightmare and he slid from his bed, pausing to grab the IV bag before it snagged on him. But he dropped it to the floor as he moved to Rodney's side. "Easy, McKay," John said softly, letting one hand fall on the broad shoulder. "You're okay...it's just a dream."

"A...a dream," Rodney whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them. Then he opened them and stared at Sheppard, reaching out to touch him on the arm. "You're real."

"I'm real," John confirmed. "And you're back in Atlantis and safe. You can sleep, Rodney. I'll watch over you." It was the least he could do. He couldn't protect them from those awful illusions, but John could watch over his team now. He could offer some measure of comfort. To that end he pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. "Go back to sleep," he ordered, his voice soft but firm.

Rodney nodded, rolling onto his side to face Sheppard. Slowly he let his eyes close and after a time he began snoring.

John shifted in the chair, trying to find a position where his ribs didn't ache, and then he let his own eyes close. But he didn't sleep. He just listened to the others breathing.

At some point John realized he had fallen asleep. His head ached, his neck had a crick in it and his pain stabbed at his ribs. He shifted upright and made to rise, with the intention of slipping into bed before Beckett or the nurse appeared, only to find out he was too late. Beckett was standing beside him, glowering. John winced. He had nothing to say in his own defense.

"Get back in bed," Carson ordered, reaching out to snag Sheppard's arm to ease him to his feet.

"I need to go use the bathroom first," John countered. He studied Beckett's face to try and judge just how angry he was. But the Scotsman looked more worried than upset. "Rodney woke up and I just...I wanted to make sure he was alright," John stated.

Carson nodded. "I figured as much. He was still gripping Sheppard's arm, but he let go as his eyes fell on the IV line. He followed the tubing to the bag on the floor. "Bloody hell! This does no good, major, if the fluids aren't dripping into the vein!"

John had forgotten about it. "I don't really need it anymore, do I? I feel better." It was a bit of a lie, but one he was willing to tell. He needed to be released and he needed to talk to Beckett.

"I'll take it out for now," Carson allowed, as he pulled the tape off and eased the needle out. He checked for bleeding then pulled a Band-Aid out of his pocket. "Use the facilities then back to bed with you," he said, nudging Sheppard towards the back where the bathroom was located.

"Can we talk for a minute?" John asked, as they reached the door.

Carson nodded. "Of course. Are you in pain?"

John debated on whether or not to keep lying. He settled for as much of the truth as he felt comfortable with. He didn't want Beckett fussing over him. He wasn't the one who needed help right now. "I'm a little sore," John allowed. "But I'll be fine. I'm worried about my team. I spoke with Teyla last night and she told me how they didn't want to be alone."

"Aye...and that's not surprising," Carson stated.

"I guess not," John agreed, but he couldn't hide his concern. "Teyla also told me that she and Ford and Rodney don't really want to talk to Heightmeyer about what happened. She said they're ready to talk about it. Which...I can understand. I watched what they suffered through and it's not something you want to remember. If they talk about it they have to relive it."

Carson scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved a weary sigh. "That's understandable, but they need to talk about it. If they don't they won't be able to deal with it and move on. And I can't keep sedating them."

John nodded. "I know. Look...I need you to release me so I can talk to Heightmeyer first. Maybe she has an idea of what I can do to help them."

"I'd really like to keep you under my supervision for at least another day," Carson replied.

"I promise to be good and rest, after I talk to Heightmeyer." John meant what he said. He meant it because he knew he needed to be strong so that he could help his teammates. John knew he was the only one who really could help them. There was no one else who would understand the horror they had been subjected too. The horror he had forced upon them, unwillingly. Illusion or not, it had felt real to them at the time and they would not be able to let go of it easily. It was going to haunt them if they didn't deal with it. John wasn't going to let that happen.

Apparently his expression conveyed his concern and his sincerity, because Carson nodded at him. "Okay then, I'll release you but I want you to check back in tonight. If I don't like what I see you're spending the night back here, hooked up to another IV."

John could live with that. "Fair enough," he agreed. "Can you call Heightmeyer and tell her I'll be there in about twenty minutes? I want to shower and change first."

"I thought you needed the bathroom?" Carson countered.

"I can wait till I get to my room," John replied, smiling a bit because he knew Beckett was teasing him. "So you'll call?"

Carson nodded. "I'll call. But I want you to get something to eat before you see her. Understood?"

John smiled. "Understood." He gave a mock salute then headed out the door. He reached his room, showered, changed and munched on a powerbar before brushing his teeth and heading out the door. Exactly twenty minutes later he reached Heightmeyer's office. She was waiting for him.

"Come in, Major," Kate invited, stepping aside so he could enter her office.

"Did Dr. Beckett tell you why I'm here?" John asked, as he stepped inside. He felt uncomfortable being here. The last time he'd come had been to suggest to Heightmeyer that she talk to Teyla. He'd barely stepped a foot inside then. Psychiatrists made him edgy. He'd had to deal with them far too often in the past. Mandatory post mission sessions were a pain in the ass and John had long ago learned to do and say the right thing to get a pass for the next mission. So far he had managed to keep out of any mandatory sessions on Atlantis. But he reminded himself that he was here for his team, which made it something he could deal with.

Kate gestured for him to take a seat. "He didn't say much other than the fact that your team might not want to talk to me."

John ignored the chair she pointed to and headed for the window. He looked out over the water and took a moment to collect his thoughts. After a moment he turned to look at Heightmeyer. "I know that my team have all spoken to you in the past. But Teyla told me that they're not ready to talk about what happened. Having been witness to it, I can understand why. But I know they need to talk to someone. I don't who else they could talk to."

"Do you think I can help them?" Kate countered, her expression carefully neutral.

"I hope so," John replied, and then he decided to be totally honest with her. "The thing is...you can't really understand what it was like for them. The fact that they weren't really tortured, that it only happened in their heads...it doesn't change the fact that it feels real to them."

Kate nodded, her expression now thoughtful. "How was it for you, Major? Having to watch them being tortured."

John realized what she was doing and he offered a half smile. "This isn't about me. It's about my team. I want to help them."

"I know you do." Kate's own smile was soft and full. "I think I may have a way to do that."

"I'm listening." And John was. He moved to Heightmeyer's desk and perched on the corner, sucking in a grunt as his ribs protested the motion. Then he locked his eyes on the pretty face in front of him.

Kate shifted to sit in the chair facing Sheppard. "I think group therapy would work better. All of you together, that way you can be each other's support system. And, for the most part, I can simply observe. Unless I'm needed."

John's first reaction was that group therapy would be a mistake. They all felt so raw and open and vulnerable. He knew how hard it was to show weakness to others. None of them were particularly good at it. But then he thought about it for a moment and he decided Heightmeyer's suggestion was as good an option as any. It was certainly better than not making any attempt to get past this. Which was all he really wanted to do. "I'll talk to them about it," John conceded. That said, he straightened up, gripping the edge of the desk with one hand when a wave of dizziness hit him, and he must have grayed out a moment because suddenly Heightmeyer was there, guiding him over and down into a nearby chair.

"I'm calling Dr. Beckett," Kate stated, reaching for her earpiece, which was on the desk.

"No…I'm fine!" John grabbed for her arm to pull her back. "I just moved too fast. I'm okay." The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the infirmary. Plastering a smile on his face to convince her he was telling the truth, John rose to his feet. The dizziness had passed. "I'll contact you once I've spoken to everyone. About a time and stuff."

Kate nodded. "All right. I'll be waiting. We can set things up any time you're ready."

John was grateful for that. "Thanks." He let her walk him to the door then he stepped into the nearest transporter. He touched the panel and soon found himself in the hallway outside Rodney's lab. For all John knew Rodney was still sleeping in the infirmary, but he figured he'd take a chance on finding the astrophysicist hard at work.

But when John entered the lab, the only person there was Radek, muttering to himself in Czech. John froze as an image popped into his head. Rodney...strapped down. Helpless. The knife of the robed man covered in blood. Rodney's mouth stained red. The sounds of muted screams...

Hands clapping over his ears, John willed the voices and the images to disappear. But instead they intensified and he could see, all too vividly, the skewer poking it's way through Rodney's temples.

"Major?"

It was the sound of Radek's voice that yanked John out of the memory. His stomach had coiled into knots and he pushed past Zelenka, practically running into the bathroom to puke until he felt like his stomach was going to turn inside out. After a time he realized Zelenka was hovering.

"I call Dr. Beckett...yes?"

"No!" John stumbled over to the sink, rinsed his mouth then splashed his face with cold water. He accepted the towel that Zelenka held out to him. "I'm okay." He realized he was saying that a lot today, only John wasn't sure whom it was he was trying to convince. He wiped his face then folded the towel and laid it on the sink. "Do you know where Rodney is?"

Zelenka shook his head. "He was supposed to go to his room to rest, but he does not answer when I radio him."

John wasn't all that surprised to hear that. "I'll find him." He had to lock his knees before taking his footstep out of the bathroom, but each step was more certain and he was nearly out the door when Zelenka called out to him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

A faltered step and John turned to face the other man, a crooked smile on his face. "Just give Rodney some time," he said firmly.

Zelenka stared at him a moment then said, "I meant all of you."

John wished that there was something Zelenka could do. But he knew that he and his teammates would have to struggle through this on their own for the most part. "Thanks," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. There was nothing else to say. Turning back around, John walked out.

It wasn't until he was in the transporter and the doors were sliding shut that he realized he was shaking.


	7. Chapter 7

John didn't allow himself a chance to fall apart. He knew he was barely holding it together, but he also knew he couldn't afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity. So he shook off the memories of what had happened and detached himself, as much as possible, from what he was feeling. He had to stop focusing on himself. What mattered now was getting his team through this particular hell. Emotional trauma was a lot harder to deal with than anything physical. John knew that from experience.

The first thing he did was head to his room to brush his teeth and make certain he was calm. He then headed out with the intention of hunting down Rodney, when he turned the corner of the hallway and almost - literally - ran into Beckett.

"Where the bloody hell have you been, Major?" Carson blasted him. "I've been trying to radio you for the past twenty minutes."

"You have?" Instinctively, John's hand rose to his ear. No radio. "Huh...I guess I left it in my room." Which still didn't explain why he didn't hear Beckett trying to contact him. Then again, he'd had the water running and the bathroom door closed. "Sorry...what's up?" John asked. "Did something happen?" He could all too easily imagine one of his team in trouble.

Carson shook his head, the worry in his eyes easing a bit. "No one called in," he stated. "I was looking for you though, for a check over."

John frowned at him. "A checkover?" he echoed. "Why? You did that when I left the infirmary."

"That was before Zelenka called to tell me you'd been throwing up."

"Rat bastard!" John hissed, the words out before he could stop them. He wasn't really mad at Zelenka. He knew the guy was just trying to help. "Look...doc...I'm fine. I just ate something that didn't agree with me."

Carson had his arms folded over his chest as he asked, "And just what did you eat? I contacted the mess hall, Major, you haven't been there today."

John winced, knowing he had been caught out. "Okay...you got me. I had a powerbar for breakfast and it just didn't settle well. Okay?"

"Not okay." Carson reached out and grabbed the major by the arm. "Come on, now. A quick exam and you'll either be on your way or back in a bed."

"I haven't had a chance to talk to my team about the session," John protested, trying to pull his arm free. A motion that pulled on his sore ribs, making him gasp a bit. His headache wasn't helping him stay focused either and he swayed and would have fallen if Beckett hadn't been holding on to him.

Carson slipped into full doctor mode. "That's it. I'm calling for a gurney."

John did not want to hear that. "No...you don't need to do that. I'm okay. I can walk." A voice in his head kept reminding him that he couldn't show weakness of any kind right now.

"Maybe you can, Major," Carson allowed, as he tightened his hold on Sheppard's arm. "But you're not going to walk. You're going to sit tight until the gurney gets here." That said, he tapped his earpiece, contacted a nurse, and ordered her to bring a gurney to the major's quarters immediately.

"I need to sit," John said suddenly. He felt a wave of vertigo that made his head flip flop before twisting into knots. Nausea set in and his vision started to gray out.

Carson was watching him and he quickly eased him down to the floor. "Head between your knees, Major," he said firmly.

John felt a warm hand on the back of his neck and he didn't resist the pressure. After a few slow, deep, breaths, he felt better. "I'm okay," he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Then he shifted a bit and pressed an arm against his ribs to ease the ache there.

"Aye...you will be," Carson stated. "Once I get an IV in you and you manage to keep some food down."

"I think I can walk now." John really didn't want a gurney ride to the infirmary. It would be admitting to his weakness. It would be a confirmation that he was messed up. That what had happened on that godforsaken planet was affecting him. Which he wasn't about to let happen.

Carson heaved a sigh and set a heavy hand on Sheppard's shoulder. "You're in no condition to walk right now, son...and you know it. Need I remind you that you have a concussion and...I'm starting to think...cracked ribs? To be honest, you're usually much better at taking care of yourself than this."

John opened his mouth to reply to that, then snapped it closed. He couldn't argue with Beckett because the man was right. He usually took better care of himself, knowing his body's limits and trying not to push past them too often. He had to be one hundred percent in the past to be able to fly. Now he had to be fit to protect Atlantis. To protect his team. "I...I'm just a little tired," John conceded.

"I can see that," Carson countered softly, and with a smile. "Look...there's your ride."

"Great." John heard the transporter doors down the hallway whoosh open and suddenly a nurse was there with a gurney. He didn't protest as Beckett helped him to his feet. He did, however, insist on getting on the damn thing on his own. John didn't reveal to Beckett the fact that it felt good to lay back. Good enough to let his eyes close and let himself drift a bit.

Drifting apparently slid right by dozing and into a deep sleep. It was a nightmare that jerked John awake and he flinched when a warm hand touched his arm.

"Sorry...sorry." The hand was removed.

He recognized McKay's voice and peeled open his eyes. John had to blink hard to bring the other man into focus. Then suddenly there was motion on his other side and he turned his head to see both Teyla and Ford standing there. Apparently he had been out longer than he realized. "Hey," John croaked, then he coughed and curled into himself a bit.

Teyla was there with a hand on his forehead, then offering a glass with a straw. "Drink some water," she told him.

John took a few sips and felt better. Even managed to smile at her. "Thanks. Uh...how long was I out?"

"Four hours," Rodney replied, glancing at his watch. But he looked distracted and his hair was standing on end as if he had combed his fingers through it repeatedly. Which wasn't a normal McKay action.

"Did something happen?" John asked, unable to hide his concern. His team looked like hell. Death warmed over. Looking at them, John felt a ripple of fear. They were all so fucked up right now, only none of them had the luxury of falling apart. Atlantis needed them, all of them, whole.

Teyla managed a shaky smile as she shook her nothing. "No...nothing happened," she assured him. "We were just..."

Ford stepped closer and finished her sentence. "We were worried about you, sir."

"I'm fine." The lie came tumbling out and John managed to hold Ford's gaze. He knew he could help the young man come to grips with what had happened. John knew that so long as he was strong enough, he could get them all through this. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

"You don't look fine." Rodney was peering at him, intently.

John could imagine he looked like shit, but he grinned at McKay. "I've been better but I've been worse," he conceded. "I'm just tired."

Teyla touched his hand, her fingers trembling a bit. "They beat you." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Roughed me up a little bit," John allowed, because he wasn't going to lie to them when he didn't have too. "It's nothing," he said firmly, holding her gaze until she was the one to look away. John figured maybe now would be a good time to talk to them about Heightmeyer's idea. But even as he opened his mouth, he heard footsteps and Beckett was suddenly there, fussing over him.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Carson asked, as he checked on Sheppard's pulse.

Swallowing a sigh, John managed a mangled smirk as he replied, "I'll live."

Carson glanced up at him at that, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Then he queried, "How's your head feeling?"

"Aches a little, I can deal," John was quick to reply. He knew his team was listening and watching and he wanted them to see that he was okay. Better than okay.

"I'll get you some Tylenol," Carson stated. "Feel up to trying some soup?"

John hid a wince. He wasn't hungry but he knew he needed to fuel his body. "Sure. Listen...when can I get out of here?"

Carson scratched his chin as he considered his reply. "You've got a shot at getting out after breakfast, if you have a good night." There was a world of meaning in his words.

"I'm sure I'll sleep straight through," John stated, his eyes flickering to his teammates. They looked so damn scared and haunted and lost that it made him ache to look at them.

"I'll get that soup," Carson said softly, his eyes following Sheppard's, then he gave a slight nod of understanding.

Once Beckett was gone, John cleared his throat. He wasn't surprised when Rodney, Teyla and Ford formed a circle around his bed. He realized they felt the need to stay close to him. To be as connected as possible. John hoped that what he had planned would help them. He didn't know what else to do. "I talked to Heightmeyer earlier," he blurted out, taking note that it got their attention.

Rodney commented first. "I have to admit...I'm surprised. I thought you hated shrinks?"

"I do, but I figure she can help," John responded. He held Rodney's gaze until McKay turned away, then he focused on Teyla, knowing that she would be the one he would, most likely, be able to convince first. "I know none of you want to do sessions, because you don't want to have to talk about what happened." John knew all too well how they felt. Reliving that particular hell was the last thing he wanted to do. But he knew they had to face it if they were going to move on, and he wanted his team back and fully functional.

"Talking won't help," Ford whispered, sounding broken.

John turned to him. "Maybe not...but it can't hurt, can it?"

Ford shrugged then locked eyes with his CO. "You don't like to talk about anything."

"True." John couldn't deny that one. "But you don't have to talk if you don't want too. You can just listen and maybe that will help."

"Listen to what?" It was Rodney who asked the question and he looked both curious and hopeful.

John knew they were all desperate for some kind of relief. Nightmares sucked when they haunted you even when you were awake. "Heightmeyer thinks that we should do group therapy. I told her how reluctant you guys were to talk to her and I told her it was due, in part, because she can't understand what you went through. So...she thought maybe we could help each other." John included himself because he wanted them to understand that they were in this together.

There was a long moment of silence and John felt agitation wash over him, his own nightmares creeping up on him. Just when he felt the need to say something more, anything that would convince them, Teyla spoke.

"I will to this," she said softly.

"Good." John smiled warmly, seeing the desperation in her eyes that she was trying to so hard to quell. And he was grateful to her to agreeing so easily, setting the lead for the others. John wasn't sure what else he could have said to convince them.

Ford was jittery and looked scared. He focused on Sheppard. "Are you sure it's a good idea, sir?" he asked.

John didn't hesitate. "I do."

"Okay...I'll do it then," Ford stated, and he looked relieved. Still shell-shocked, but relieved.

"Rodney?" John turned to the Astrophysicist, who was pacing and scrubbing a hand over his head in a repeated gesture.

Freezing suddenly, Rodney locked eyes with Sheppard. He said nothing for a long moment then he mumbled, "Yes, yes...I'll be there. If I'm not busy!" He qualified that statement with a stabbing finger motion in Sheppard's direction.

John knew that Rodney would be there and he was content. At least as much as he could be. "I'll have Beckett set up the time," John announced.

"Time for what?" Carson countered, as he entered the room with a mug of steaming liquid in one hand.

"The group therapy session with Heightmeyer," John replied.

Carson looked surprised. "You're all agreed?"

John nodded. "Can you set it up for tomorrow afternoon?" He figured he'd be out of the infirmary by then, and they needed to do something as soon as possible. He needed his team back.

"How about the following day?" Carson countered, handing the mug over to Sheppard. "Sip it, it's hot," he ordered, interrupting himself for a moment. Then he continued with, "You might not be up to it, Major. Not by tomorrow."

"I'll be ready," John said, his tone a bit sharp as he locked his gaze on Beckett. He was relieved when the doctor nodded.

"Fine, I'll set it up," Carson said, then he looked at the others. "Time to clear out, Major Sheppard needs to rest. You can come back later."

With Teyla taking the lead, they all filed out.

John took a sip of soup. It was a bit bland but he drank it anyway. He had to be out of here by tomorrow. But when Carson started fussing over him he asked, "Can you give them something to help them sleep. They need to be as clearheaded as possible to deal with this tomorrow."

"I'll take care of them," Carson promised. "I'm going to set up a corner here, so they can be with you. It seems to help."

"Good." John might have said more but a yawn overtook him.

Carson grabbed the mug before it could slip out of his hand. "I'll warm it up for you later. Sleep now. You need it more than they do."

John didn't argue. He watched as Beckett injected his IV with something to help him sleep, and he embraced the warm darkness that wrapped around him. He wanted the oblivion. If only for a little while.


	8. Chapter 8

John was tired. The bone-deep kind of tired that went beyond physical exhaustion. The kind of tired when it felt like his brain was wrapped in oatmeal, making it hard to think clearly. John knew the nightmares he was suffering weren't helping. It helped less when he was hyper aware of the fact that his team was sleeping nearby and suffering their own demons. John didn't want to wake them. He didn't want them to worry about him. So he didn't let himself sleep as deeply as he should, fighting against the medication that Beckett had given him.

He was tired enough that Beckett was threatening to postpone the group session with Heightmeyer, and Weir was backing him up. But John was adamant and he said as much when they both tried to bully him out of it. "I can rest later," John stated firmly. "After the session." He locked eyes with Beckett. "Look...I know I'm tired. I'm worried about my team, okay?" And that, at least, was the truth. "They need help and this session can help them. And once they're doing better, I can relax a bit."

"I can't argue against that, Major," Carson allowed, with obvious reluctance. "So I won't. But you're to come back here after the session where I can keep an eye on you. And that is non negotiable."

"Fair enough," John replied. He figured he could charm his way back to his room when the time came. He smiled at Beckett then turned to Weir, who was still eyeing him with concern. "I'm okay," he told her. "Just tired and worried, but we're going to get through this. All of us." John was including Weir, because he knew she needed them to be okay. She needed him and his team to keep Atlantis running smoothly. But he knew it was more than that for her. That she cared about all of them on a personal level. John knew because he felt the same way.

Elizabeth nodded, but she looked a bit grim. "It's been a rough few days and it's not over," she stated.

John knew she was issuing a friendly warning. But he was way ahead of her. He knew there was no easy fix. He knew he couldn't just say a few words and everything would be okay. His team…his friends...were going to carry the memory of what happened to them for a long time. The issue now was to help them face the worst of it and find a way to live with it. Whatever it took to help them move past it and move on. John was a pro at moving on. He had a lot of past experience. More than he cared to think about. Mentally, he shook away those thoughts and smiled at Weir, then he looked at Beckett. "So can I go now? I want to shower before the session. I'm not going in scrubs."

"Aye, you can go," Carson allowed. "But a word to the wise, where something comfortable because you're coming directly back here afterwards."

"In other words, if I'm smart I'll wear my sweats so I don't have to deal with any more scrubs," John translated, teasingly. And it felt good to want to tease Beckett, if only over something so trivial.

Carson patted his shoulder. "Now you're catching on, Major. I'll sign you out and maybe Dr. Weir will escort you to your quarters."

John frowned at that. "Hey! I don't need and escort!" he protested. "I know the way to my room."

"Dr. Weir can escort you, or I can have one of the nurses take you in a wheelchair," Carson countered, his tone brooking no argument.

"You busy?" John asked, gazing hopefully at Elizabeth.

She smiled and shook her head. "Not so busy that I can't play escort."

John was relieved. "Thanks." He shoved the covers off and accepted his sneakers from Beckett. He stepped into them, being careful of his still sore ribs, and then he looked at the Weir. "I'm ready if you are."

"Let's go." Elizabeth led the way out.

"Don't forget to come back here after the session, Major!" Carson called after them. "I will hunt you down if I have too!"

John grimaced and shot a backwards wave in Beckett's direction. "I'll come back!" he shouted. Which made him wince as pain stabbed in his temples.

Elizabeth watched him, worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...fine. Just still have a bit of a headache." John smiled to reassure her.

"You are planning to do what Carson said, right?" Elizabeth asked. "Because I will send an escort after you if you don't."

John knew she meant it so he gave up the plan to hide out in his room. A part of him suddenly realized it was for the best anyway. "I'll go back," he said softly. "I can't fit everyone in my room anyway." And he knew that Elizabeth got that he meant his team. It had become habit for them to be together at night and John hoped it did help them to sleep better. They needed comfort wherever they could get it, and he would do whatever it took to give them everything they needed.

Elizabeth touched his arm and when he looked at her she said, softly, "Don't forget to take care of yourself, John."

"I will." He made the promise easily, because John knew how to be okay. He knew what to do and what to say to make it through any kind of hell. He would make it through this one just fine.

They were scattered about Heightmeyer's office. Kate was sitting off in one corner, a notepad on her lap, distancing herself from them. She was a hovering presence, but a silent one.

Teyla was sitting, curled up in one corner of the couch. She looked pale and jittery and she would not look at anyone.

Ford was standing at the window, staring out over Atlantis. He looked green around the gills and his hands were stuffed into his pockets as if to stop them from shaking.

Rodney was pacing and muttering beneath his breath. He would pace over to the door, stare at it like he was willing it to melt away so he could disappear, then he would shake himself and go back to pacing around the room.

John was leaning against Heightmeyer's desk, watching them. He felt tired and achy and his head was throbbing, but he welcomed the pain because it kept him focused. He watched everyone and he wanted, desperately, to reach out to them in some way. But he didn't know what to do or what to say. He glanced over at Heightmeyer and she nodded at him. John knew that she believed he could help his friends, but he wished he had some handbook that could guide him.

The memories of what had happened were vivid in John's head. He saw each moment of torture as vividly as if it were happening all over again. The images made him shudder and John wasn't aware that he had closed his eyes until a soft touch on his arm jolted him. He blinked and saw Teyla standing before him, her eyes wide and dark with concern.

"Are you alright, Major?" she asked.

"I'm fine, Teyla," he said firmly, closing his own hand over the one on his arm. "Just a little tired...sorry." He forced a smile and was relieved when she nodded and returned to her place on the couch. "I know this is awkward," John stated, drawing everyone's attention to himself. "But we need to talk about what happened. We need to get it out into the open."

Rodney moved closer, still pacing, and muttered, "I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped. "I don't want to remember!"

John understood that. "But you do remember, Rodney. It won't let you forget, will it?" John knew he hit a nerve when Rodney froze then lifted blue eyes to glare at him. He held the angry gaze until the anger melted into fear and John wished he had a magic wand and he could just wish all this shit away. But he knew there was no magic to help them. Suddenly he knew where to start, with questions of his own that he needed answers too. "Did you see what happened to each other?" John asked.

"No." Teyla answered first. "I lived my own torture and told Aiden and Dr. McKay about it, but they didn't see it and I did not see what happened to them."

"We didn't see what happened to you either," Rodney stated.

Which answered John's next question. He had been telling everyone he hadn't been tortured without bothering to be certain that his team hadn't seen it. Relief washed over him. At least he could spare them that. "Nothing happened," John stated, emphatically. "Other than my being witness to what they did to you."

Ford finally turned from the window. "How did you see it?" he asked, and he looked almost afraid of what the answer might be.

"Through a window in this room. A white room with a table."

"They strapped us down," Teyla interjected, and she looked startled, as if she hadn't intended to say that.

Ford shuddered, hugging his arms around himself. Then he suddenly held out his hands and stared at them, as if confirming to himself that they were still there. "I...I didn't know what that bastard was going to do!" he hissed, his body shaking. "But...but I could feel...I could feel the blade slicing through my w-wrist..."

John moved to Ford, gripping his shoulder, hard. "It wasn't real!" he snapped, wanting to grab Ford's attention and refocus it. Once the dark eyes were looking at him, John softened his voice. "I know it felt real to you...but it wasn't. That's what you have to hold on to, Ford. Look at your hands and know that it wasn't real."

"That sounds so easy, sir," Ford replied as he uncrossed his arms and held his hands out, flexing his fingers. "But...sometimes...I look at them but I can't feel. I can see them...but it's like...it's like they're not there."

"But they are." John gripped one of Ford's hands, holding on tight and feeling Ford's own fingers closing over his and tightening until it hurt. John didn't flinch.

"Those...beings...on the planet, they messed with our heads. Sometimes that's worse than a physical injury. You can heal when it's physical. You can see it and feel it. But it's hard to heal a wound you can't see." John spoke softly, still holding tight to Ford's hand, and he felt some of the tension leave the other man's body.

Ford used his free hand to swipe tears from his eyes. "You saw it, sir? You saw them chop off my hands and feet?"

John nodded, wanting to shudder at the memory, but he had to stay focused and strong for Ford. "I saw it," he confirmed.

"Why?" Ford was shaking his head, his eyes wide and bright with fear and confusion. "Why did they do that?"

"To get me to tell them where Earth is," John replied, and he had to force the words past a suddenly dry throat. "They tortured you...they tortured all of you...to punish me. To make me talk." John felt a wave of guilt wash over him. It didn't matter that that torture hadn't been real. His team had suffered from it anyway. He could deny it until he turned blue, but they had suffered because of him. John locked eyes with Ford. "I'm sorry." It was hard to say because saying the words made what had happened all that more real.

Ford looked shocked, then he blanched, and suddenly he was pulling a way and clapping both hands over his mouth.

Kate was on her feet and guiding him into the other room.

John just stood there, listening to the sounds of Ford retching, feeling his own stomach clench in sympathy, making him wish he hadn't forced down some runny oatmeal for breakfast. Looking at Teyla, John saw that she was curled up into a ball of misery. Glancing over at Rodney, John could see that the astrophysicist looked ready to pass out. John went to him first. "Rodney?" He wanted to hear him speak. John needed to hear McKay say something. Anything.

"I can't do this," Rodney whispered, and then he bolted for the door.

John blocked him, wincing when Rodney slammed into him, jarring his sore ribs. "You can't run away from this!" John hissed, as he gripped Rodney's shoulders. "It won't go away if you ignore it. You have to deal with it, Rodney."

Rodney staggered away from John, shaking his head. "I want to go home," he whispered. "I want to go back to my apartment with my cat."

"This is home now, Rodney," John said softly. "Atlantis is home and you're safe now. You just have to keep telling yourself that." For a moment John wondered whom he was trying to convince of that. Himself, or Rodney?

"Can we go now?" Rodney locked eyes with John. "I can't do this right now. I have work to do."

John wasn't sure if he should let Rodney go, but he realized he couldn't push him to talk. He couldn't force Rodney to do something he wouldn't do himself. "Okay...we'll try again later." John stepped out of the path to the door and watched as Rodney almost ran from the room. He then focused his attention on Teyla. Moving to sit beside her, John asked, "Are you okay?"

Teyla lifted her head from her knees and shook her head. "No...I am not. I feel as Dr. McKay does. I wish to go home."

"Do you want to spend some time on the mainland?" John asked. If that's what Teyla needed to do, then he would fly her there himself.

"Maybe...maybe later," Teyla allowed. "I do not wish to be far from you...or the others."

John understood that. "Do you want to talk?"

Unwinding herself from the couch, Teyla stood and shook her head. "I wish to work out for a while. To meditate."

"Okay. If you want to talk later, you know where to find me," John stated.

"Yes...the infirmary," Teyla said, firmly, a knowing look in her eyes.

John realized he had forgotten about that but she hadn't. As much because she was worried about him, a worry he could see clearly in her eyes when she looked at him. But also because she needed to be close to him and Ford and Rodney. So he nodded. "I'll see you later," John said softly. He let Teyla draw his head down so that they could touch foreheads in the way of her people, then he watched her walk out the door.

"Major?"

John turned to see Kate standing behind the couch. He hadn't heard her approach. "How's Ford?"

Kate shrugged. "Could be better. He's sticking close to the toilet right now and I've contacted Beckett. They're sending a med team to escort you and Ford back to the infirmary. I told Dr. Beckett what happened and he'll give Ford something to help him rest."

"Good." John was glad to hear that. He wasn't happy about going back himself, but at least he would be able to keep an eye on Ford. "Rodney went to his lab. Maybe you could call Zelenka to keep an eye on him?" John watched Kate nod then continued. "Teyla is in the gym, maybe you could go talk to her?"

"I could try," Kate allowed. "For the record, I think that today went well, Major."

John was surprised to hear that and he let it show. "Really? Because I was thinking it was a total bust. I didn't help them...hell...I think I made it worse!" John ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, making it stand up more than usual. "I wish I could turn back time or something! I wish we could hypnotize them into forgetting what happened!"

Kate moved and reached out to touch his arm. She pulled back when he flinched. "This is going to take time, Major. You know that."

"Yeah...I know." John expelled a sigh of frustration. "Knowing doesn't make it easier to deal with. I feel helpless and I hate that feeling."

"You are helping them," Kate insisted. "More than you realize. They look to you to be their focus and their strength, and that's what you're doing. But you need to make sure you focus on your own needs, Major."

John looked at her, sharply; a biting retort on his lips when the door whooshed open and Beckett was there with a nurse. The nurse was pushing a wheel chair. Beckett waved the nurse off into the bathroom and John watched as Kate went in with her. Then he focused on Beckett who was now pushing the chair towards him. "That had better be for Ford," John said, through slightly clenched teeth.

Carson looked grim. "It's for you, Major. Have a seat. And please don't give me a hard time, I'm having my own bad day."

"What's wrong?" John's first thought was that something had happened to Rodney or Teyla, even though they had just left.

"Nothing that concerns you or your team," Carson was quick to assure him. "But I've got a lot going on and I don't need you to give me a hard time. So...sit!" He pointed to the chair.

John could see that Beckett was tired and he didn't want to add to the man's burden. So he sat and let himself be wheeled out of the room. All he wanted to do was drift into oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks to everyone for the lovely FB. It keeps me motivated and is muchly appreciated._

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Once back in the infirmary, John was almost grateful to climb into bed. He curled up on his side and dozed off for a bit. The next thing he knew Carson was taking his pulse and there was a flurry of sound and activity beside him. John peeled his eyes open and saw that another doctor was fussing over Ford. "Hey...how is he?" John asked, as he shifted upright. 

"He'll be okay," Carson said, his tone tight.

"Good." John was glad to hear that. He knew Ford wasn't really okay, but he also knew that Carson was letting him know that -physically - Ford wasn't in any danger. "So...how are you doing, Doc?" John asked, seeing the lines of tension that marked the other man's face.

Carson heaved a sigh then scrubbed a hand over his face. "I've been better, Major," he allowed. Then he pushed at Sheppard. "Get your shoes off and crawl under the covers, will you?"

John did as he was told. He didn't want to give Carson a hard time. "I'm sorry about all this," he said, as he let the Scotsman fuss with his covers.

"Sorry?" Carson echoed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean _us_ camping out in here and stuff." John went for a grin and failed. "I know you've got enough to deal with as it is."

Carson didn't deny it, but he did press a hand to Sheppard's side. "How are the ribs?" he asked.

John winced at Beckett pressed over a tender spot. "Still sore, but mending. I'm fine."

"You're handling this better than the others," Carson allowed. "And...for the record, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm just cranky because I'm tired, I've got a headache, I'm worried about you and the others and..." He broke off to heave a sigh.

"And...what?" John prompted.

Carson pulled a stool over and sat down heavily. "I just got word that one of the Athosian women that I've been caring for on the mainland lost her unborn child. The news came just before the incident in Heightmeyer's office, so I'm feeling as riled up as a wounded grizzly bear. It'll pass. It's just tough to lose one."

John understood that all too well. "You want to talk about it?" he offered. He wasn't one for talking about himself, but John had always considered himself to be a pretty good listener. Beckett always took good care of him and his team, so if the man needed someone to talk too, John could do that.

"I might take you up on your offer sometime," Carson allowed. "But right now I want you to rest. In a few hours I'll bring you something to eat. And rest easy, Major. I have someone looking out for Rodney and Teyla."

"Thanks." That tidbit of information did help to ease John's mind. Enough so that he was able to close his eyes and let himself drift into darkness.

He dreamed about the Wraith. About shooting Sumner. He dreamed about the Wraith finding Atlantis and breeching them. He hunted them down but it was too late. Ford and Rodney and Teyla were dead, lying in pools of their own blood. Their bodies soaked in blood. And the Wraith stood beside them, smiling as John reached them.

_You did this, human!" _they whispered.

John stared at the bodies in horror, shaking his head.

_"No!"_ he shouted._ "NO!"_

He jolted awake, a scream trapped in his throat. He ached with the need to release it but John swallowed it down, one hand lifting to rub his throat, forcing the scream down and, with it, the bile that threatened to erupt if he opened his mouth.

It was dark and silent in the infirmary, making John's harsh breaths sound loud in his ears as he struggled to calm his rapidly beating heart. He sat up, shoving the covers off, wrapping his arms around his upraised knees and trying not to shake as the air touched his sweat-soaked skin.

John didn't know how long he sat there, rocking, breathing, shaking...but finally he felt the tremors subside and he could pull air into his lungs without feeling like he was going to puke. He uncurled his body and slid out of bed, gripping the side of it as his knees buckled. He looked towards the nurse's station that was barely visible and he could see a shadowy form bathed in soft, golden, light. The nurse hadn't stirred and John was grateful.

Finding his balance, he moved to the nearest bed and leaned over so that he could see Teyla's face. She was asleep but looked restless. Ford was to her left and he was twitching in his sleep. John ached for him. The kid was so young and this would change him in ways he had yet to realize. John wished he could spare him the change, but he couldn't.

Moving to the corner bed, John watched Rodney for a moment. The other man was curled up into a ball and there was a pained expression on his face, even in slumber. The fingers of one hand rested on his mouth, as if even in sleep Rodney needed to make sure his tongue was still there. That thought brought up the horrible illusion of Rodney's torture and John shook his head, wanting the pain that spiked to life in his temples. It banished the image and he turned away, heading for the bathroom.

John wanted to pretend everything was normal. He relieved himself then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He caught his reflection in the mirror and he looked pale and haunted and he couldn't stop one hand from lifting to touch his face, touch his eyes. He shook away the memory and found himself running over to the toilet, emptying his - already empty - stomach.

He felt weak and worn out when he stumbled back over to the sink and grabbed for a bottle of mouthwash with a shaky hand. John rinsed, splashed cold water on his face again then slipped out of the bathroom. He knew he should get back in bed. He knew he needed to rest but he felt like the walls of the infirmary were closing in on him. The sight of his sleeping team members evoked more horrific images that danced in his head, a macabre reminder of what he was trying so damn hard to forget.

Backtracking to the exit at the other end of the infirmary, John slipped out into a darkened hallway, his stocking feet soundless on the cool floor. He was still sweat damp and shivering a bit, but it was real and it kept him feeling grounded in this reality. So John continued, meandering down one hallway after another until he reached the double doors on the south end of this level and they slid open, allowing him to step outside.

John moved to the railing, clutching it with both hands. Clinging to it more than anything as he felt his knees give out again. Eventually he slid down to the floor, back against the outside wall, knees drawn up and eyes fixed onto the night skye as he waited for dawn.

He should have known someone would find him long before then. The doors whooshed open and John didn't open his eyes as footsteps echoed in his ears. When they fell silent he opened his eyes and found Elizabeth hovering beside him. "Beckett?" John guessed.

"He called me after the nurse called him. You shouldn't have disappeared like that, John." Elizabeth's tone of voice was lightly scolding as she moved to sit beside him. "It's cold out here." That said as she draped a blanket over him.

"Thanks." John clutched it to him, gratefully. He was shivering from the cool dampness that had seeped under his skin. "So...how did you know I was out here?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Life signs. You're the only one out this far."

John realized he should have guessed that. "Sorry if I worried you." And he meant it. She had enough to worry her as it was. Running Atlantis wasn't easy and John didn't envy Elizabeth her position. He was fully aware of the fact that his own actions were often stress inducing for her.

"Are you okay?" Elizabeth countered.

"I'm fine." John realized it was a pat answer but he meant it. He was fine because he had to be. But he was glad it was too dark for her to see him clearly. He knew he looked like shit.

Elizabeth leaned into him, nudging his shoulder. "So what are you doing out here? Star gazing?"

John almost smiled at that. "Sort of," he allowed. "I just...I needed to breathe." He hoped she would understand without him having to explain.

"There's plenty of air inside," Elizabeth said quietly.

"I needed to be alone." John clarified and he felt her draw away a bit. He could feel her eyes on him, straining in her attempt to try and read him. He didn't point out that she couldn't read him any other time. Know one could. John never let anyone get that close.

Elizabeth sighed softly. "I know this isn't going to be easy, John. What you went through...all of you...it's going to take time."

He nodded, wondering if she could see the motion in the dark. "I know. We'll get through this. Rodney, Ford and Teyla...they're stronger than they know. They'll be okay...I'll make sure of it." And he would make sure. He'd do whatever it took to make it so.

"You don't have to do it alone," Elizabeth countered.

"No one else can understand what happened," John shot back. He said nothing more. It wasn't something he could explain.

There was a long moment of silence then Elizabeth rose to her feet. "Come on, I'll walk you back. If you don't return with me, Carson is sending the cavalry after you."

John winced, knowing Beckett would do it. He didn't want to leave, but he struggled to his feet, still clutching at the blanket. He felt Elizabeth's hand on his arm and let her guide him towards the door. He was too tired to protest. All John wanted to do was sleep with the hope of waking up and everything that had happened would be nothing more than a bad dream.

Carson was waiting for them when they arrived, looking rumpled and worn out. He eyed John then took him by the arm, nodding at Weir, who drifted off. "You need to shower and change," Carson stated, as he led John to the bathroom. "Can you manage?"

"Yeah...I'm fine. Sorry I worried you." John shrugged off the blanket, missing its warmth now that he was left in damp sweats and tee shirt.

"It's what you do, Major," Carson replied, but there was an almost fondness in his tone. He pressed a hand to John's forehead. "No temp, but let's not push it. Get showered and I'll bring some scrubs. Then back to bed and I'll give you something to help you sleep."

John shook his head. "I'll sleep on my own." The offer was tempting but John knew that nightmares could penetrate any level of unconsciousness, even a drugged one, and when sedated the mind was more vulnerable. Plus, as tired as he was, John felt the need to keep watch over his team. So he entered the bathroom, shucked his clothes, showered quickly, letting the hot water seep into his cold skin, then he dressed in the scrubs Beckett dropped off before making his way back to his bed. John could tell that the sheets had been changed.

Carson gestured for John to get in. "Are you sure you don't want something to help you sleep?" he asked, as he fussed with the covers.

"I'm good." John spoke firmly, eyes locking with Beckett's. The man had enough on his mind, just like Weir. John did not want to add to his worries.

"All right then." Carson patted John's shoulder. "Call for the nurse if you need anything."

John nodded, then asked, "Can I get out of here tomorrow?"

Carson made a face at him. "We'll see. Get some sleep, Major." With that he was gone.

John didn't close his eyes. He used his connection with Atlantis to raise the lights again, just enough so he could see his teammates, then he settled in to watch over them for the rest of the night.

The others awoke in stages. Rodney was the first one up and John greeted him with a smile. He wanted to talk to Rodney but the moment McKay was awake, he was on his feet and muttering about needing to take care of something in his lab. Before John could protest, he was out of the infirmary.

John considered getting up and going after him. He got so far as to push the covers off and slide out of bed when Teyla awoke. So John held off and went to her, seeing a bit of confusion in her eyes. It sucked waking up and feeling disoriented by your surroundings. "Did you sleep well?" John asked, as he stood next to her bed.

"Yes...well enough," Teyla replied, as she rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand. "I did not dream."

"That's good." John just wished she didn't look so tired. She might have slept, but she wasn't really getting any rest. He knew the signs of that all too well.

Teyla slipped off her bed. "How are you feeling, Major? Should you be up?"

John managed a genuine smile, hoping it would ease the worry he read on her face. "I'm good...I'll be released in a bit." It was a bit of a stretch of the truth, but John was certain Beckett would release him, relatively soon. "Teyla...do you feel like talking?" John touched her arm, drawing her attention back from the inward focus he could tell she had shifted too. He recognized the haunted look in her eyes.

"Perhaps later," Teyla replied, with a slight nod. "I think I will go now and prepare for the day." And with that she was slipping past and him gliding away.

"Dammit!" John felt frustration wash over him. His team...his friends...they needed his help and he didn't know what to do to help them. Resisting the urge to heave a dramatic sigh, John settled for running his fingers through his hair then he went searching for his clothes. He was getting ready to find the nurse and beg for them when Ford stirred. John was by his side in a heartbeat. "Ford?"

With a strangled cry, Ford's eyes flew open and he jack-knifed into a sitting position, eyes wide and dark with fear.

John gripped his shoulder, hoping to center him. "Ford...it's okay. You're in the infirmary. You're okay." He spoke softly, not wanting to spook Ford further.

"Sir...sorry.." Ford pulled away, shifting about so he could stand up. "Bad dream." His voice cracked and he was panting, trying to catch his breath against the suffocating grip of sheer terror.

"I know." John kept his distance, giving Ford a chance to pull himself together. "Do you want me to call Beckett?"

Ford shook his head, then ran a hand over his face, wiping away the cold sweat that slicked his skin. "I...I'll be fine, sir."

John allowed a soft sigh to escape. "I know you will." But his words sounded hollow to his own ears. He knew Ford was having the hardest time dealing with what had happened. John felt a wave of regret crash over him. Ford was too young to have to deal with this traumatic shit. John wished there was someway he could make Ford forget what had happened. He was half tempted to talk to Heightmeyer about hypnotism, and not just for Ford. For his entire team. John knew they all wanted nothing more than to forget.

"I need some air," Ford said suddenly, then he bolted from the room.

Instinct propelled John into going after him, but he was blocked by Beckett's sudden presence in the doorway.

"Let him be, Major," Carson said firmly, gripping John by the arm and steering him back to his bed. "Hop up and let me take a look at you."

"Ford shouldn't be alone," John protested, pulling his arm free. "He's...this is really messing with him."

Carson nodded. "I know that...but maybe it's for the best that he spend some time on his own. I spoke with Kate just over breakfast and she thinks it might be best if the lot of you sleep in your own rooms tonight. Maybe the separation will kick in the healing instinct, so to speak. Mind you, Kate had a much more technical term for it."

John knew the term, he had minored in psychology in college. "Maybe she's right," he conceded. He then let Beckett push him back onto the bed and suffered through another exam. When Beckett was done John asked, "Can I go now?"

"Aye...but I want you to get something to eat then you're to take it easy for the day, Major." Carson shook a finger at him as he spoke.

"I'll be good," John promised. He didn't want to find himself back in the infirmary. It was not his favorite place to be. The only thing he planned on doing was keeping an eye on his team. Sliding off the bed, John headed for the door but stopped when he remembered something. "By the way...where are my clothes?" And by that he meant his original uniform, which he realized he had never gotten back.

Carson grinned. "I sent it to the laundry. You should know by now, Major, that I never keep your clothes here. Too much of a temptation for the likes of you." Carson made shooing motions at him now. "Go eat."

John nodded and took off. Since he was wearing scrubs the first thing he did was go back to his room to change. Once he was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, he headed back out and stepped into the nearest transporter. Breakfast could wait. The first thing he needed to do was talk to Rodney.


	10. Chapter 10

Not surprisingly, John found Rodney in his lab. He was working alone, body hunched over his laptop, typing sporadically while muttering under his breath. John cleared his throat as he approached, not wanting to spook him. They had all been scared enough lately to last a lifetime.

Rodney stiffened and turned to stare at John. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"I'm not sick or an invalid, Rodney," John drawled, and then he pulled something out of his back pocket and tossed it at McKay. "Catch!"

"What is it?" Rodney asked, even as his hands lifted instinctively.

John grinned. "Chocolate."

Rodney's eyes went wide as he stared at the candy bar in his palm. "It is chocolate. You've been holding out!" The tone was accusatory.

"Sort of," John allowed. "But now I'm sharing."

"Why?" Now Rodney was suspicious, but that didn't stop him from unwrapping the bar and taking a bite. He closed his eyes, looking blissful.

John moved closer, feeling a genuine smile curve his lips. It was nice seeing McKay having a normal reaction to a good thing. He wanted to be able to make life this simple for them all again. "Rodney...we need to talk," John said, his smile fading. Because nothing about their lives was ever simple. But now it was twisted and complicated in a way that scared John. He didn't like being scared.

Rodney stiffened, tension radiating off him in waves. He swallowed a second bite of chocolate then countered, "Talk about what?"

"You know what." John kept his voice soft and soothing, or so he hoped. "It doesn't go away no matter how hard you try to ignore it. Trust me on that one, Rodney."

"You've had your tongue cut out!" Rodney snapped back.

John flinched, remembering that image all too clearly. Even looking at Rodney now, he could see the blood pouring from his mouth. Shaking his head, John whispered, "No...no, I haven't. But I spent six days in an enemy camp with two other soldiers. It wasn't summer camp, Rodney."

A grimace of regret twisted Rodney's face. "Sorry...didn't know."

"Long time ago." John blew it off. "My point being that it doesn't go away just because you want it too. You have to talk about it."

"Did you talk about it? Before?" There was anger in Rodney's tone, along with curiosity.

John hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Rodney, but he wasn't sure how honest he could be. He hadn't talked to anyone. He'd been forced to see a shrink but John had just played the game then, bluffing his way back to full duty. He had his own way of handling things. "I did what I had to do, Rodney. Whatever it took to get back to flying. I want you back on the team and ready to go through the gate. What do you have to do to get there?"

Rodney tossed the half eaten candy bar on the lab table, and then he turned to face John, arms folded over his chest. "I don't know," he said, sharply. "When I figure it out I'll give you a call. Until then, Major...I have a lot of work to do. Go bother someone else." That said, Rodney turned back to his laptop and started tapping at the keys.

There was nothing more John could say right now, and he knew it. So he slipped out of the lab, feeling worn out and frustrated. He wouldn't give up on Rodney, though. He'd hunt him down at dinnertime and try talking to him again. But since he couldn't do anything more here, John went in search of Teyla. Not surprisingly, he found her in the gym. For a time, John leaned against the doorframe, watching Teyla move about the room. She was lithe and graceful, her motions more like a dance than anything. But John knew how deadly she was. How strong. He felt the urge to join her for a session, but he knew his ribs wouldn't hold out. Still, he walked into the room and picked up the extra set of sticks that lay on the floor. Carefully, he did some movements Teyla had taught him, hissing a bit at the pull to his ribs.

"You shouldn't do that," Teyla called out.

"I know." John lowered his arms and turned to face her. "Don't tell Beckett," he beseeched, with a smile.

Teyla shrugged. "That depends on you, Major. Sometimes you don't know when to quit."

John arched an eyebrow, knowing she wasn't just talking about him using the sticks. "You're not a quitter, Teyla," he said softly.

"Sometimes it is not about quitting," she replied. "It is about knowing that you cannot win." As she spoke, Teyla moved to the window seat and shoved her sticks in her bag. She then grabbed a towel and patted her face. "I feel very alone now."

"You miss your people," John guessed. He knew that Teyla liked it here in Atlantis, and that she liked him and the others, but it wasn't the same as being home. Although, John realized, Atlantis had become his home.

Teyla sighed. "I do...but it is more than that."

John moved closer, locking his eyes on her face. "Are you sorry you came to Atlantis?" He couldn't help but blame himself for what had happened to her. He had signaled the Wraith by picking up her necklace in the cave. The Wraith had then culled her home world leaving Teyla and her people, homeless. The Athosians had made a new life for themselves on the Mainland, but John knew it wasn't the same. They had lost so much because of what he had done. Teyla all the more so, in so many ways. Had she not joined his team, she wouldn't have been tortured.

"What happened, happened," Teyla said quietly, reaching out to touch John's arm. She smiled, a sad curving of her lips, then said, "I have no regrets in coming here, Major. But I do miss my home, as I imagine so do you."

"Sometimes," John allowed. He did miss the things Earth had to offer. But he had always been adaptable. He knew Teyla was the same way. "Do you want to talk?" John asked.

Teyla shook her head, looking regretful. "Not now. Perhaps later." Turning back to her bag, she slung it over her shoulder then she glided past John and out the door.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, John watched her go then he went back to using the sticks, biting his lip against the pain in his ribs. He worked at it until he couldn't ignore the ache and burn. Dripping with sweat, John dropped the sticks and headed for his room. He showered again, made himself down a powerbar, then he made his way to the infirmary to talk to Ford.

To John's surprise, Ford had been released to his room. John thanked the nurse, Sally, and then he charmed two Tylenol from her and left before Beckett popped up and insisted on another exam. John knew if Beckett touched his ribs now he'd go through the roof, and when he came back down he'd be stuck in the infirmary again. So he beat a hasty retreat, stopping by the mess hall for bottled water. John took the pills then he made his way to Ford's room. It took two knocks before Ford invited him in.

"Hey," John offered in greeting, as he stepped into the room.

"Sir," Ford replied.

John studied him. He looked pale and jittery and he was tossing a nerf football from hand to hand. Something easy enough to stuff in the corner of a backpack. "How ya feeling?" John asked.

Ford shrugged. "Been better."

"I know. Want to talk about it?" John offered, hopefully. He was '0' for two so far.

"What's to talk about?" Ford snapped. "What happened...and it's all YOUR FAULT!"

John flinched at the rage in Ford's voice, but he held fast when Ford got in his face. "You're right," John said quietly. He was more than willing to take the blame, and he would encourage it, especially if it kept Ford talking.

Ford's face contorted in anger. "You should have lied to them! You should have made up a location for Earth! You should have done something to save us!"

"You're right." John kept his voice soft. "I should have done something to save you." He saw something dark and ugly in Ford's eyes and John half expected the lieutenant to slug him. Instead, Ford wheeled around, strode over to his desk in the corner and picked up his gun. He held it to his head and John felt panic wash over him. "NO!" He shouted, running over and grabbing Ford by the wrist. He yanked the gun away from his head.

"Please!" Ford sounded broken. "I can't take this anymore!"

John held fast. "Not like this!" he whispered. "No way. You want to blame someone, you blame me. I did this." Slowly, forcefully, John pulled on Ford's arm until the gun was pressed into his own chest. "If you think the only way out is to shoot someone, then you shoot me." John's eyes never left Ford's as he spoke. "I did this," John whispered, and he meant it.

Ford's finger twitched over the trigger, then he was shaking his head and trying to pull his hand free. "No…no! Please…I'm sorry."

"It's okay." John let him go. He took the gun from Ford's slack fingers and clicked the safety on before tossing it onto the bed. Then he wrapped his arms around Ford and held on tight. By habit, John had tucked his radio behind his ear and he tapped it and called for Beckett. While they waited, he rocked Ford, whispering soothing words and praying that everything would be all right.

An hour later Ford was sedated and curtains were drawn around his bed in the corner of the infirmary. John sat with the others. Weir and Teyla and Rodney. They didn't say a word to each other. There was nothing to say. John had told them what happened, speaking clinically and without emotion. Kate had been called and she and Beckett had taken care of Ford.

John watched the others, seeing how stunned Teyla and Rodney were. Seeing hopelessness in both their eyes and at the same time John knew they were wondering if maybe oblivion wasn't the answer. Teyla shook it away, but it lingered in Rodney's eyes and that worried John. He didn't see any blame in their eyes, but he wondered if they felt the same as Ford.

Kate and Beckett approached the group, looking tired and grim.

Weir was the first to ask, "How is he?"

"Worn out," Carson replied. "I'm going to keep him sedated for twelve hours so he can get some rest. After which Kate will talk to him. We'll work it out."

"I want to be there when you talk to him," John said to Kate. "I want Ford to know he's not alone. Besides which...I'm an issue and we need to deal with it."

Kate nodded. "I think that's a good idea." With that she nodded to the group and walked out.

Weir looked at Beckett. "So what now?"

"The rest of you go and get some rest yourselves." Carson looked at Teyla and Rodney. "If you think you need help sleeping, don't hesitate to come get something. I mean that. It's not a cure but you need to rest."

"I will let you know," Teyla allowed.

Rodney gave a little wave of one hand. "Yeah...sure. I'll let you know." With that he wandered off, Teyla following in his wake.

Weir gave a nod and turned to leave as well.

John slid off the bed he had been sitting on and made to do the same, biting back a moan as his ribs made themselves felt. When his feet hit the floor his knees buckled.

"Not you, Major," Carson stated, a determined look on his face as he caught John by the arm to support him. "You look like death warmed over. You're staying. And, by the way, Teyla told me you were practicing with the sticks. Are you daft, man?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" John countered, trying to force a grin. But he hurt too much and he was too worn out to muster one and he gave it up. Instead he let Beckett push him back onto the bed. He didn't make a fuss when a needle pricked him. Instead John let his eyes close as warm darkness drifted over him, easing the ache in his heart and soul.


	11. Chapter 11

_Once again, my thanks in advance for all the wondeful reviews/FB._

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He jolted awake, a cry strangling in his throat, body shuddering, skin slicked with cold sweat. Another nightmare. John stared at his shaking hands for a moment, peripherally aware of the dim lighting, before scrubbing at his face. The dream was different this time. He dreamed about the knife hovering over his eyes in the instant before it stabbed into one. Only this time Ford was holding the knife, snarling at John that this was his punishment for allowing the torture. And it was the Ford from now, not from when they had been captured. The Ford who was all fucked up and desperate and ready to die to end this nightmare.

Sliding out of bed, John headed for the bathroom. Once there, he fell to his knees and dry-heaved over the toilet. There was nothing left in his stomach to bring up, just the hot - raw - coil of nausea, twisting and tightening in his gut. Once John was able to stop gagging, he sagged back against the wall, letting seconds tick by as he tried to pull himself together. After a time he got to his feet, locking his knees to keep from falling. He gripped the sink with one hand as he rinsed his mouth, then he splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the lingering memory of the dreams. But he couldn't wash the horror down the drain.

Grabbing a towel, John wiped his face, dragging the towel over his damp neck, then over his bare arms. But even though he wiped away the cold sweat, John still felt cold inside. Shuddering, he made his way back to his bed, but he didn't lie down. Instead he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, and then he moved to where Ford lay, curtained off in the corner. Grabbing a chair, John brought it over to the bed and sat down. The lights were low and the area was heavily shadowed, but John could see Ford's face well enough. He could see the lines of anxiety and fear that were etched into Ford's face, aging him as if overnight.

"You're going to be alright, buddy," John whispered, softly, knowing that Ford couldn't hear him; yet a part of John hoped that the message would sink in anyway. Somehow he was going to make everything all right, for everyone on his team.

"Major?"

The soft voice behind him made John jump. He turned, without thinking, hissing as his ribs pulled, pain twinging through him.

The nurse who had called him was by his side in an instant. "Are you all right?" She kept her voice pitched low, but not quite whispering.

"Yeah...I'm fine." John managed a shaky smile, hoping to reassure her.

"You should be in bed," the nurse scolded.

John winced then made a sheepish face. "I know. I just…I wanted to check on Ford. I'll go back to bed in a minute."

The nurse studied him a moment then nodded. "Alright. Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?"

"No...I'm fine." John told the lie easily. There was no pill or shot for the pain he was feeling. The bitter pain of fear and frustration and failure.

"Something to help you sleep?" she offered.

John hesitated, half wanting the oblivion. But then he shook his head. "I'm good...really."

She patted his shoulder. "All right then. Call me if you need me." With that she turned and glided away.

Tugging the blanket more firmly over his shoulders, John settled himself as comfortably as he could. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep now, so he would keep vigil over Ford instead. Maybe it would help in some way to keep the monsters that haunted them all at bay.

But John didn't get a chance to test his theory. Less than an hour later, Dr. Beckett came bustling in, looking like he had rolled out of bed and pulled on his old uniform. He looked mussed and wrinkled and his eyes were heavy-lidded as he moved to crouch by John's chair.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Carson queried.

"The nurse called you, didn't she?" John countered. "Sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you. I'm fine."

Carson heaved a quiet sigh. "You don't look fine. You look worn out and you're trembling a bit." This said as he gripped John's wrist to take his pulse.

John didn't feel up to arguing with Beckett, so he tried to distract him with a change of subject. "Is Dr. Heightmeyer still planning on doing a session with Ford tomorrow?"

"You mean later today, don't you?" Carson countered. He released John's wrist and stood up, his palm pressing against John's forehead, feeling for warmth.

"Right...later today," John amended, leaning away from Beckett's touch. He hated being fussed over, even when it was necessary. He didn't think it was necessary now. He wasn't sick, none of them were. But his team was wounded in a way that Beckett's type of medicine couldn't heal or cure.

Carson crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes searching John's face for a moment, peering hard against the shadowy darkness. "Whether Kate does a session or not is dependant on Ford. She plans on it if he's feeling up to it."

John nodded. "Good. I hope she doesn't forget I want to be there."

"She won't forget." As he spoke, Carson reached out and snagged John by the arm. "Come and get back into bed, Major. You need to rest. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

"No!" John's response was automatic. He rose from the chair at Beckett's pull, but stepped back and faced the other man with determination. "I'm going to go back to my room to sleep," John said firmly. Before Beckett could offer some protest, he continued, "I'll be more comfortable there so I'll rest better."

Carson didn't look happy about it, but he nodded his consent. "Perhaps you will sleep better at that. I can give you something to ease your way," he offered.

John was tempted, but he knew that the memories were wired so deeply into him and were so vibrant at the moment that he wouldn't find peace even in a drugged sleep. "I don't need it," he said softly. "But I have a favor to ask."

"Ask away." Carson looked curious.

"Can you have a nurse sit with Ford?" John glanced at his 2IC as he spoke. "I don't want him to wake up alone."

Carson smiled, but there was a sadness to it. "Aye...I can do that. Now go rest, Major. Doctor's orders."

John didn't argue with him. Still clutching the blanket around his shoulders, he left the infirmary. But he didn't head straight for his room. He walked the dim and silent corridors of Atlantis, making his way to the nearest balcony. The night air was cool, yet it felt almost heated against his clammy flesh. For a time, John just stood there, inhaling the scent off the water, exhaling slowly, as if he could rid himself of the darkness within. When he finally felt the tension inside him uncoiling bit, easing the tightness that made it feel as if he were suffocating, John finally left the balcony and made his way to his room.

Once inside he headed for the shower, standing under the hot spray of water until his skin felt warm again. Nothing could seep inside far enough to warm the cold that lay twisted and rock-solid in his gut. But at least he felt the illusion of warmth as he dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Slipping under the covers of his bed, John curled up on his side, staring at the far wall. He didn't want to fall asleep but, surprisingly, he found himself drifting away into a shadowy darkness that deepened to black velvet. A deep sleep where, finally, he didn't dream.

It was a soft voice and a gentle touch that woke him. Or, more accurately, startled him out of slumber. John felt his body jerk awake, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat, one hand reaching for the gun that wasn't there, until he realized it was Elizabeth who was standing next to his bed. Her voice had called his name. Her hand had touched his arm. "What...what's wrong?" John asked, feeling a heavy lethargy that was hard to shake. He rubbed at his eyes then blinked hard, not letting his heavy eyelids slide closed the way they wanted to.

"Nothing's wrong." Elizabeth kept her voice soft and low. "I came to check on you and I brought lunch. A rather late lunch, actually."

"Lunch?" John peered at his watch then tapped it. The time had to be wrong. "How long did I sleep?"

Elizabeth glanced at her own watch. "Almost eleven hours."

John rubbed at the ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his temples. "Eleven hours," he echoed. "I can't believe I slept that long."

"You needed it." Elizabeth moved to the table in the corner. "I hope you're hungry. I brought lots."

"I guess I should be hungry," John allowed, as he slid out of bed. "Give me a minute to change and I'll be right with you." At Elizabeth's nod he grabbed jeans and a tee shirt and headed for the bathroom. After taking care of business, John splashed cold water on his face. He still felt groggy and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, in spite of all the sleeping he had done. Another splash of cold water then he wiped his face and got changed.

Elizabeth was waiting for him when he padded over to the table. "How do you feel?"

John considered how to answer her and settled for an acceptable lie. "Better. How's Ford doing?"

"Better as well." Elizabeth looked relieved. "He woke up a while ago and apologized to pretty much everyone for what happened. I told him we understood and about talking to Heightmeyer and he's agreed to a session this afternoon." Another glance at her watch. "In about an hour, in fact."

"I'll be there," John said, grimly.

Elizabeth nodded. "I know. But until then, sit and eat."

John sat after she did then asked, "Has anyone checked on Teyla and Rodney?"

"I have." Elizabeth pushed a glass of juice in John's direction. "They're keeping busy. They're quiet but they seem okay."

"Good." John offered a smile, knowing it didn't reach his eyes. He knew that Teyla and Rodney were far from okay.

Elizabeth pointed to his plate of food. Soup and what passed for a grilled cheese sandwich. "You need to eat, John," she admonished him.

Food was the last thing on John's mind, but he took a sip of the soup, just to appease her. Surprisingly, his stomach accepted it. He took another bite and that's when Elizabeth dropped the bomb on him.

"So how are you doing, John? Really."

"I'm fine." The reply was so automatic that John winced. But he managed to hold Elizabeth's intense gaze and state firmly, "Really. I'm just tired."

Elizabeth nodded and took a few sips of her own soup. Then she blurted out, "Atlantis needs you. All of you."

John knew what she was saying. "They'll get past this, Elizabeth. Just give them a little time. They're strong...stronger than they know."

"What happened with Ford..." she broke off and sighed, dropping her spoon and leaning back in her chair to fold her arms across her chest. "That scared the hell out of me, John."

"Yeah...freaked me out pretty good too," he confessed, and he took note of her startled reaction. "He was just overwhelmed," John explained, because he wanted her to be able to understand. At least a little. As much as she could without having experienced it. John knew that what had happened wasn't something she was prepared to deal with. Hell, he wasn't prepared for it either. But he would get them through it. Somehow...some way.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply when her earpiece beeped. "Weir here," she responded.

A disembodied voice replied, "We need you in the Gateroom, Dr. Weir. Technical problems."

"Did you contact Zelenka?" Elizabeth countered.

"Yes, ma'am. He's on his way."

Elizabeth sighed and replied, "So am I." She tapped off as she rose to her feet and looked at John. "We'll talk later?"

He nodded. "Sure." John was pretty sure they both knew it probably wouldn't happen. At the moment there wasn't much for them to talk about. Bates was doing John's job, Zelenka had pretty much taken over for Rodney. John knew wasn't going to change until he and his team dealt with what had happened. But it was slow going. "Go," John told her. She was needed.

"Going." Elizabeth smiled sharply then headed out the door.

John watched her go, then he shoved away the bowl of soup. He wasn't hungry. Even the taste of it in his mouth made his stomach clench so he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Glancing at his watch, John realized he had more than half an hour before Ford's session began, but he headed out the door and made a beeline for Kate's office anyway. He wanted to talk to her about Ford. John wanted to make certain that his presence wouldn't make things worse for the lieutenant.

To John's surprise, Heightmeyer already had a full office. Both Rodney and Teyla were there. Teyla greeted John with a smile from where she stood by the window. Rodney was pacing and he offered a little wave. John looked at them a moment, then at Kate, who was smiling at him.

"They wanted to be here to show their support for Ford," she said softly. "Just like you do, Major."

"And this is a good idea, right?" John countered, as he moved to stand beside her desk. He rested his hip against it and folded his arms over his chest. John felt a ripple of uncertainty and there was a sudden tightness clutching at him, making him over conscious of every breath he took. "Ford's issues with me are very real and I don't want to make things worse for him. I'll back off if you think he's not ready to deal with me." And he would do just that, although he really didn't want to. John wanted to be there to support Ford and help him through this.

Kate was quiet for a moment, obviously considering John's words. "I think that it's a positive thing having all of you here," she said finally. "If Ford is uncomfortable with your presence, Major, we'll know and we can deal with it accordingly."

John thought that sounded logical enough, although he was having a hard time focusing his thoughts. The ache in his temples had become a stabbing throb and he felt exceedingly restless and jumpy. That anxious feeling like there were bugs crawling under his skin. The room felt suddenly small and hot and suffocating and John had to force a smile at Heightmeyer before pushing away from the desk to join Teyla at the window. He ignored the way she looked at him, her eyes full of concern. He just needed a minute to pull himself together because it felt, all of the sudden, like he was starting to unravel. John knew he couldn't afford to come apart at the seams. So he took a few, deep, breaths and focused on evening out his breathing.

"Hey everyone."

It was Ford, calling out from the doorway, surprising them all with his presence.

They turned to look at him as one.

"Guess everyone decided to come early," Ford stated, looking uncomfortable at the attention.

"We can leave if you're uncomfortable," Teyla interjected, as she moved to greet him.

Ford shook his head. "No...I'd like all of you to stay." He turned to face John. "Especially you, sir. If you don't mind."

Relief washed over John, alleviating his anxiety for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Ford couldn't meet John's eyes and he shuffled his feet as he stated, "I'm sorry about what happened. About what I said."

"You don't have to apologize to me," John was quick to reply. He moved to Ford, waiting until the younger man lifted his head to meet his gaze. "I understand what you feel and why." John nodded at Ford then turned to Rodney and Teyla, needing to know if they felt the same way. "Do you blame me for what happened?" He asked, outright.

Rodney looked stunned. "Why would we?" he snapped. "It wasn't real!"

An unbidden image of Rodney, strapped down and bleeding from the mouth, appeared in John's head. He had to swallow hard against the acrid taste of bile before he could reply. "But it felt real at the time, Rodney." Turning to Teyla, John beseeched her, "Be honest. Do you blame me? Even a little?"

"Perhaps...a little," Teyla allowed, reluctantly. "It is foolish of me to blame you. I know that it was not real and that it was not your fault."

"It's okay." John felt a spike of anxiety, felt it shudder through him, and did his best to hide it at he turned to McKay. "What about you, Rodney? You can admit it."

Rodney looked angry, his blue eyes narrowed at he glared at John. "Fine! A part of me - the irrational part - blames you! Happy now?"

John didn't reply. Instead he turned to Kate and asked, "How do we get past this?" Because John knew that this was the sticking point for his teammates. That they needed to deal with this roadblock to move past what had happened. He knew that they understood he wasn't to blame, although he knew they would be surprised to learn that he blamed himself.

Kate was watching them all from a distance, and then she got up and moved to join them. She focused on John. "You saw what happened to them. Tell them what you saw, Major. Tell them what you felt...what it was like for you to watch them being tortured."

Fear rippled through John and he felt his mouth go dry. He didn't want to relieve those moments and he was pretty sure the others wouldn't be happy to relieve it either, but he decided to put his trust in Kate. If this was what it took to help his friends, then he would do it. "Okay. I can do that," John stated.

He turned to Ford and began. "I watched that freak in the robe holding the butcher knife as he stood beside you. I saw how terrified you were. I asked the woman what she wanted and all she said to me was..._Where is Earth_?. I wouldn't tell her. I couldn't." John felt his stomach clench at the memory, felt nausea coil in his stomach and bile pool in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the memory of the butcher knife flashing silver as it chopped off Ford's hand. "There was so much blood and you were screaming in agony..." John broke off, forcing his eyes open as he sensed movement beside him. Ford had turned ashen and Kate had pushed him down into a nearby chair. John looked at her. "I should stop." It was more a question than a statement.

"Keep going," Kate urged him.

"Teyla..." John turned to her next. "You were very brave. I knew what was coming. Something horrible. That woman...she asked me about Earth again but I couldn't tell her. And that...that bastard started cutting you..." John broke off, his vision graying out all of the sudden and he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. "I couldn't stop them...I couldn't..." John felt a cold sweat break out on his skin, making him tremble as a sudden and staticy sound filled his head, like white noise. He felt himself detaching from his surroundings and he felt as if he were floating away. He needed to be grounded so he moved, seeking a solid connection, images flashing in his head now as he continued talking. "They cut your tongue out and there was so much blood." John continued backing up, rubbing his hands together. So much blood that he could feel it on his skin...he could taste it in his mouth. Blood in Rodney's mouth, trickling over his chin...

John shook his head, wanting to shake away the images. The movement sent spikes of pain stabbing into his temples, making starbursts flash behind his closed eyes. He stumbled back and hit a wall, or something. He latched onto it, sinking down into a crouch, feeling his way into the corner. Into his corner in his little box. He tucked himself into the corner, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them, body rocking against the waves of pain and fear and anger that washed over him, drowning him.

"...sorry...sorry..." he whispered, over and over again, wishing that his teammates could hear him. Wishing that they weren't dead. "Should have been me...sorry...sorry.." Pain stabbed in his eyes and John bit his lip, tasting blood. More blood. Everything covered in blood. He covered his eyes, feeling warm slickness against his palms. Everything dark now...he couldn't see. Couldn't see. "...dark...so dark. They should have killed me too...I wanted them to kill me too..."

John was caught up in the memories. He wasn't aware of his friends staring at him in horrified disbelief. He felt the woman touch him and he scrabbled away from her whispering, "No...no...no!" He didn't know it was Teyla. He didn't see her step away, fighting back tears.

"...should have been me..." John whispered, as the pain in his head tightened around his skull like a vise. He didn't feel the tremors that turned into convulsive shudders. But he welcomed the sudden darkness as his body stiffened then went limp against the floor.

He didn't hear Kate's panicked call to Beckett.


	12. Chapter 12

Elizabeth looked at everyone who was scattered around the conference room table. Beckett and Kate, along with Rodney, Teyla and Ford. All of them looked shell-shocked and she knew she looked the same. She hadn't been at the session when Major Sheppard had suffered his breakdown, neither had Beckett, but they had heard the - first account - details from the others. Kate's had been the most clinical.

The breakdown had occurred four hours ago and now it was time to focus on what had happened and why. She looked to Beckett for answers. "How is Major Sheppard?" Elizabeth asked.

Carson sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away his exhaustion. "Physically he's exhausted, sore, run down, dehydrated and malnourished. All things I can take care of, so he'll heal in that respect."

"Emotionally?" Elizabeth prompted, when Beckett fell silent.

"Dr. Heightmeyer can help you with that," Carson stated.

So Elizabeth looked to the other woman. "What happened?"

Kate looked as exhausted as everyone else, but she forced a smile to curve her lips, as if to offer reassurance before delivering the bad news. "I can only guess at what happened, since I can't ask the major right now, but I'm...guessing...that he was tortured as well. Psychologically tortured, the same as his team was."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Rodney interjected, his face red and eyes flashing with anger.

"I think he felt that you and your team mates had enough to deal with, without worrying about him as well." Kate kept her voice pitched low and she reached out and patted Rodney's hand, waiting until he visibly relaxed to continue. "I also believe that guilt pushed him to keep quiet about what he suffered through."

Teyla looked confused. "Guilt?"

Ford was the one to reply to that. "He blamed himself for what happened." His voice sounded gritty with emotion and his eyes were bright as he lifted his head to look at everyone. "We blamed him for what happened, of course he would blame himself."

"Stupid Kirk complex," Rodney muttered, as he twisted his fingers into knots on the tabletop.

"He can't really believe any of what happened was his fault," Elizabeth commented, to no one in particular. But she saw Kate nodded and focused on that. "But why?"

Kate shrugged. "Major Sheppard has never talked with me before this incident so what I know of him comes from reading his files and observing him here on Atlantis. But he takes his responsibilities to heart. He believes in protecting his people. Protecting Atlantis...protecting his team. I think he feels he's failed on a lot of levels and all the more so with his team, which would make it extremely personal for him. He tries to keep himself detached and, to a certain extent, he seems to succeed. But, at the same time, it's been my observation that Major Sheppard is a very passionate man. He feels deeply. His inability to protect his team, to save them from being tortured, would have hit him on an extremely personal level."

Teyla looked upset. "But it was not his fault. He had no control over what happened," she protested.

"Which touches on another issue for the major," Kate continued. "Control. He was helpless to help you. He had no way or means of stopping what happened. He had no...control. I don't think he deals well with that." Kate looked at Elizabeth. "As well you know," she added softly.

"Yes." Elizabeth did know. She remembered how Sheppard had been gung ho to storm the Hive Ship after their people, along with Teyla and some Athosians, had been captured. And how he had disobeyed her orders to stay put when Peterson had escaped quarantine and had been making his way to the gate room. John Sheppard didn't do well on the sidelines with nothing to do. He felt the need to be involved, to take action, in any and all situations. She understood his frustrations, she just had to overcome them in her position. But his need for control had saved them all, time and time again. "So what happens now?" Elizabeth prompted.

Carson piped up. "We wait. There's nothing else we can do at the moment. Major Sheppard's vitals are good but..." Carson hesitated.

Rodney had no patience. "But what?" he snapped at the doctor.

"But...the major is unresponsive at the moment."

"What does that mean?" Teyla queried.

Carson sighed. "Well...the best way I can explain it is that he's not unconscious or sleeping exactly. He's just...not reacting to outside stimuli. He doesn't respond if you talk to him or touch him."

Rodney looked worried. "Catatonic?"

"Not exactly," Carson replied.

"Can we see him?" Rodney was already on his feet as if to head straight to the infirmary.

Carson watched the others follow suit. "One of you can visit, for now," he allowed.

Elizabeth watched Sheppard's team exchange glances. Without a word they seemed to reach an unspoken agreement.

"Dr. McKay will sit with him," Teyla announced, calmly. She then moved to Ford and took him by the arm, guiding him out of the room.

"Go," Elizabeth said to Rodney, when he just stood there, watching her. She knew he was waiting for permission from her, offering her the chance to go in his place. A part of Elizabeth wanted to go. She wanted to be the one to check on John. But Rodney had earned the right, as John's friend. "Go," she repeated. She watched Rodney almost run from the room, and then she turned to Beckett and Kate. "Will Major Sheppard recover?" she asked. She needed to know. If he wasn't going to be all right, then she had to figure out what to do. How to replace him. But how did one replace the irreplaceable?

Kate reached out and touched Elizabeth on the arm. "All I have to go on right now is my gut feeling but, I think we can get him through this. He's a strong man."

Elizabeth nodded. There was no denying that. After reading Sheppard's files about what his life had been like before Atlantis, then everything he had suffered through since coming here, Elizabeth knew the kind of man Sheppard was. "The strongest man I know," she said, confidently. Forcing a smile, Elizabeth turned to Beckett. "Let me know when I can see him." With that she left the room. There was work to be done.

He couldn't breathe. Every breath he tried to suck in burned his lungs and he couldn't inhale deep enough. He panted out short, ragged, breaths, gagging a bit each time. He could feel his heart, thudding against his rib cage, feel the too fast beat, echoing in his ears. John knew he was suffocating. Panic washed over him in waves, pressing him deeper into the suffocating darkness...

"Major!"

He jolted at the sound of a voice over him. Body jerking, jack-knifing upright. He felt hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he tried to suck in air. His lungs burned, his heart was about to burst through his chest...

"CARSON!"

John recognized Rodney's voice screaming. He wanted to say something but he couldn't form the words. He didn't have the breath to push them out anyway. Then something was pressing over his nose and mouth and John fought against it until hands gripped his wrists. Then another familiar voice over him. Beckett's.

"Easy, Major. Just relax. I'm trying to help you breathe easier. Just a bit of oxygen and you'll feel better."

He realized that the thing over his face was an oxygen mask and this time when he sucked in he could feel the cool intake of air expanding his lungs. A short exhale and then another moment of sucking in sweet air.

A hand patted his shoulder and Carson said softly, "That's it, Major. Slow breaths and you'll be fine."

Reality came shifting into focus in hazy increments. John was suddenly aware of a beeping sound and the tug of a needle taped to the back of his left hand. He was in the infirmary. With effort he peeled open his eyes and blinked hard. Beckett's face came into view and the doctor was smiling.

"Is he okay?" It was Rodney in the background.

"He'll be fine." Carson spoke with calm certainty as he pulled out his penlight and flashed it on Sheppard's eyes. "Feeling better now, Major?" he asked.

John nodded then tapped at the mask over his face, wanting it removed. He remembered how to breathe again. A moment later the mask slipped off and John licked his dry lips. "Water?" His voice was rough and scratchy.

Carson grabbed the glass of water that always seemed to be at the ready, and held the straw to John's lips. "Just a sip or two, Major," he ordered.

Doing as he was told, John took a few sips then swallowed the sweet coolness, letting it eased his parched throat. "So...what happened?" he asked, as he shifted about in an attempt to sit up more. Only to have Beckett grab the bed controls and raise the head so he was sitting up fully. "Thanks," he said to the doc.

"What do you mean what happened?" Rodney interjected, moving to the other side of the bed. "You freaked out on us! That's what happened!"

"Freaked out?" John echoed, looking to Beckett for an explanation.

Carson patted John on the shoulder. "Since I don't think I'm going to be able to shut him up, I'll let Rodney explain while I go contact Dr. Heightmeyer. Call me if you need me." With that, Carson was gone.

John looked at Rodney. "You're pissed at me." It was a statement of fact, not a question. Rodney's eyes were wide and flashing with anger and that anger was focused directly at John.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Rodney demanded.

"Tell you what?" John was beyond confused now.

Rodney moved closer, fingers closing over the bedrails and squeezing until his knuckles turned white. "Why did you lie to us, Major? Why didn't you tell us that you were tortured too!"

John flinched at Rodney's accusations, wondering where the hell he came up with them. "What do you mean, lie to you?" John countered, focusing on that accusation first. "We were talking in Heightmeyer's office and the next thing I know I wake up here. What the hell happened?" John was beginning to get worried about how much time he had lost and why.

"You honestly don't remember what happened?" Rodney looked stunned.

"We were talking and..." John broke off, shaking his head as he tried to remember the details.

Rodney grabbed a chair, pulled it over and sat down. "You were talking," he said, his voice toned down a few notches. He suddenly looked worn out and weary. "You were telling us what you saw. How they made you watch us being...being tortured. Then you kind of detached and you started saying things, like you were reliving what happened. You said you couldn't see and then you stuffed yourself in the corner of the room and just...you went away. Then you went into convulsions or something and just went limp." Rodney was shaking a bit as he told the story.

John listened with a kind of detachment. He still didn't remember that happening and he thought he should be more upset about that than he was, but he was more focused on getting Rodney to calm down. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Sorry?" Rodney blinked at him in surprise. "Sorry for what? For lying? For not trusting us?"

"I do trust you," John countered, offering a smile. "I just...you had enough to deal with, Rodney. All of you. You didn't need to share my burden."

Rodney jumped to his feet, eyes flashing again. "You're unbelievable, you know that? What happened...it happened to all of us! You should have said something!"

John nodded, hoping that the gesture would appease Rodney. "You're right. I should have." John wasn't sure what else to say but he was saved by Heightmeyer's arrival with Beckett.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Kate asked, as she approached his bed.

"I'm not sure." John gestured to the IV in his hand then looked at Beckett. "Is this really necessary?"

Carson nodded. "For now it is. Do you feel up to chatting with Dr. Heightmeyer?"

John shrugged. "Sure." He noticed Rodney had drifted into the background, but he hadn't left. John didn't mind if Rodney listened. He had nothing to hide anymore. Given the fact he'd, apparently, fallen apart in front of everyone.

"Do you remember what happened, Major?" Kate asked.

"Not really." John picked at the tape that held the IV needle in place. "Rodney told me I freaked out. I don't remember doing it." John realized it was odd that he felt so calm about it. "I'm sorry about all the drama."

Kate shook her head at him. "No apologies necessary, Major. You've suffered an extremely traumatic experience and you tried to block it out, but you're mind wasn't willing to let you do that. I think that's a good thing."

John took her at her word. "If you say so."

"What is the last thing you remember?" Kate prompted. "You were telling us how you were forced to watch your team mates tortured, Major and then you slipped away from us. Can you tell me now what happened to you?"

"I can do that." John waited a moment, expecting to feel uneasy or angry, but he didn't feel anything. So he looked at Heightmeyer and told her what she wanted to know. "They locked me in a room that looked like a box. They hit me a few times, not what I would call an intentional beating. Then they tortured me when they were done with the others. They stabbed my eyes out." John remembered the moment with vivid clarity. He closed his eyes and replayed the knife driving into his eye. He didn't flinch at the memory. He opened his eyes to find Heightmeyer and Beckett watching him closely. They looked worried.

Heightmeyer patted his arm. "Thank you, Major. I think that's enough for now. You should rest. I'll stop by tomorrow so we can talk again."

John nodded. "Okay." If she wanted to talk, he'd talk.

"Can I get you anything, Major?" Carson asked, as he fussed with the covers for a moment. He looked uncertain and concerned.

"I'm a little hungry," John replied.

Carson looked relieved. "I'll send for a tray."

John grabbed his arm and said, "Get two, I bet Rodney's hungry." John looked at McKay and smiled as he spoke.

"Aye...two trays coming up," Carson allowed, then he slipped out of the room.

"Hey, Rodney...feel like talking?" John invited, as he shifted on the bed to find a more comfortable position. He ribs still ached and pain throbbed in his temples, but John was able to ignore it for the most part. He was more concerned with Rodney.

Pulling the chair back over to the bed, Rodney sat down and stared at John. "There's nothing more to talk about," he whispered, and his voice sounded hollow.

John stared back at him, the image of Rodney strapped down and bleeding, flashing in his head. But it didn't freak him out this time and John was relieved. He willed the image away and said, "You can get past this, Rodney. You're stronger than you know."

"I just want to forget it ever happened." Rodney scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. "I'm so tired of this. It's all I think about. It's all I can think about."

"You have to keep in mind that it wasn't real. I know it felt real, but it wasn't." John watched Rodney stand up and pace around the room. He let a heavy silence fall between them because he didn't know what else to say right now. He remembered how frightened Rodney had been. He remembered his own reaction to watching Rodney being tortured, but it felt like something that had happened a million years ago.

Before the silence could become too unbearable, Beckett returned, along with a nurse, bearing trays. "Soup for you, Major," Carson stated, as he set it down on the moveable tray table and slid it over John's lap.

Rodney accepted a tray with two sandwiches on it. He sat down in the chair and stared at his food.

"Eat up, Major," Carson ordered. "You need to get your strength up."

"I know." John stared at what looked like tomato soup and picked up his spoon. "Can I get out of here after I eat?" he asked, taking his first swallow of soup.

Carson shook his head. "No...I want to keep you under observation for at least twenty-four more hours. We'll talk after that."

John didn't argue, he simply took another swallow of soup, nodding when Beckett excused himself. He noticed Rodney didn't touch his food. "Not hungry?" John asked.

"No...I'm not." Rodney set the tray aside. "You're the skinny one anyway."

"Not skinny," John argued, more in the hopes to bring a smile to Rodney's face and egg him into a snappy comeback. But neither was forthcoming. So John took another swallow of soup, then another. It didn't taste like tomato soup. It didn't taste like anything. He wasn't hungry and after a few bites his stomach felt uncomfortably full. But John kept eating, swallowing spoonful after spoonful until the bowl was empty.

Rodney had watched, looking morbidly fascinated. Then he shook himself and muttered, "I have to go. Work to do." He almost ran out of the room.

John didn't try to stop him. He wanted to be alone. But it didn't last long. Beckett reappeared and checked on his progress.

"Good to see you finally eating again, Major," Carson said, looking pleased as he took the tray and pushed the moving table back against the wall.

"Can I take a shower?" John countered. "I feel gritty and itchy."

Carson considered a moment, then nodded. "I'll detach the IV from the bag is almost empty and tape over it." As he spoke he was doing just that. A moment later he patted John's hand. "You can shower then I'll reattach the line and hang a new bag. Just don't be long and call if you need help." He moved to a shelving unit in the corner and came back with a fresh pair of scrubs. "Need help getting up?"

John shook his head as he pushed the covers back and stood up. "I'm good." He accepted the scrubs and made his way to the bathroom. Once there he stripped and stepped into the shower. He turned the water on, letting it run cold before stepping under the spray. The temperature should have made his skin icy, but John didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything. The numbness inside him was spreading outward and the only thing John even - remotely - felt, was relief.


	13. Chapter 13

John stayed under the spray of cold water until he heard Beckett calling his name. He turned the water off, got out and dried off, then he dressed in the scrubs, numb fingers fumbling a bit. His legs felt numb as well and John stumbled a bit as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Carson was right there to catch his arm and steady him. Then he was cursing beneath his breath. "Bloody hell, Major! What have you gone and done now?"

"What?" John was as surprised by Carson's sharp tone as he was by what he was saying. Or maybe he just wasn't understanding. His thoughts were fuzzy.

"You're ice cold, man!" Carson pressed his palm to John's forehead. "You're shivering...we need to get you under a warming blanket. Come on." He practically hauled John over to his bed.

John was too tired to protest. He let Beckett shove him back under the covers, curling up on his side and clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He knew he was cold, but he didn't actually feel it. He closed his eyes as Beckett piled blankets on top of him then John let awareness fade away.

He didn't see the look of concern on Beckett's face as the doctor and a nurse worked over him. Taking his temperature, covering him with a warming blanket. Starting another IV. John knew nothing as he drifted into shadowy darkness.

Soft voices woke him up. John still felt fuzzyheaded, but his throat was dry and scratchy and he needed a drink of water. Shifting upright, feeling slightly achy, John reached out toward the glass of water on the bedside table, only to freeze when he saw the IV taped to the back of his hand.

"Major...how are you feeling?" Carson asked as he approached.

Elizabeth was close on his heels.

John stared at them, realizing they were the voices that had awakened him. "I'm fine," he croaked, his voice and the trembling of his outstretched arm no doubt giving lie to his words.

"I'll get that for you," Carson said, reaching for the water glass.

"Thanks." John winced at the raspiness of his own voice, clutching the glass in both hands before risking taking a sip. He handed it back then stared down at the heavy blankets draped over him. "What happened?"

Elizabeth replied, the expression on her face neutral, but her eyes glimmered with both anger and concern. "You tell us, John," she shot back. But she didn't give him a chance to respond. "What were you thinking? Were you trying to freeze yourself to death?"

John frowned at her, trying to kick-start his brain into focusing. He had no idea what she was talking about and he opened his mouth to tell her that when he suddenly remembered the shower. The icy-cold shower. "I...I'm sorry." John wasn't sure if he needed to apologize or not, but he saw a flicker of something in Weir's eyes that looked like relief, so he continued. "It didn't feel cold."

"Well, luckily you weren't in there long enough to do any real damage," Carson interjected, as he fussed with the blankets then checked on the IV.

"I wasn't cold," John whispered, head down. He didn't see the looks exchanged between Beckett and Weir. "How are the others?" he asked, as his fingers plucked at the blankets.

Elizabeth moved closer, placing a hand on John's shoulder as she replied. "They're doing okay. They're worried about you though. We all are."

John knew that and he wished they wouldn't. They didn't have to worry about him. "I'm fine," he stated, wanting them to believe it. "Look…I'm sorry if I worried you." John offered a crooked smile, wanting to reassure Elizabeth. He was glad when she smiled back but she still looked uncertain. John looked at Carson, who was watching him intently. "Can I get out of here now?"

"Maybe later," Carson said, patting his arm. "Rest some more, Major. Dr. Heightmeyer will be by later to talk to you. We'll see how that goes and decide from there."

"Fine." John was too tired to argue. He let his eyes drift closed, hoping Beckett and Weir would get the hint and leave him alone. He heard Elizabeth say goodbye then the shuffle of footsteps. John kept his eyes closed and found himself drifting off into a darkness that should have felt warm, but he still felt achingly numb.


	14. Chapter 14

John came awake without a sense of urgency for once. In fact, he felt distractingly calm. He had dreamed. This time reliving what had happened. Being forced to watch as his team was tortured, and the moment when he had been tortured himself. But there was no fear or anger twisting inside him now. John felt nothing at all, just oddly detached in a way he hoped would never change.

Sensing a presence, John turned his head to see Teyla sitting in a chair next to his bed. She looked worried as she rose to her feet to greet him. John smiled, hoping to ease her concern. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"That is supposed to be my question to you," Teyla countered.

"I'm okay," John said firmly. "But you look tired."

Teyla shrugged. "I still cannot sleep without dreaming.

John remembered those fears all too well, although they seemed more like a vague memory of something that had happened to someone else, rather than his own demons. He studied Teyla's face, seeing how haunted she looked and wondering if that was how he had looked before, or if he was still reflecting that fear. Not that it mattered. John wanted to help her, only he still didn't know what to do. "I wish there was some magic pill I could give you, give all of you, to make you forget what happened," he said softly.

"I wish there was too," Teyla replied, desperation coloring her tone.

"We'll figure it out," John promised, and it was a promise he intended to keep.

Teyla was about to reply but the sound of footsteps approaching made them both turn their heads.

Kate was approaching them, a smile on her face. She greeted Teyla then focused on John. "How are you feeling, Major?"

"Pretty good," John replied, being completely honest. He was achy and sore and he couldn't shake the headache that had tormented him since their return but, overall, he felt...better. Because, emotionally, he felt nothing at all.

"Feel up to talking then?" Kate prompted.

John shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Kate looked at Teyla, reaching out to touch the other woman's shoulder. "Would you excuse us?"

"Of course." Teyla mustered a ragged smile that she directed at John, then she turned and took her leave.

"Can you tell me what happened, Major?" Kate asked, getting right to the point.

John rather appreciated her candor. "Sure...it's not a big deal. I took a shower and I didn't realize that the water was ice cold."

Kate studied him a moment then said, "You didn't feel it?"

"I guess not." John frowned, wondering if she was being dense on purpose. Then it hit him, what she was suggesting. "You think I was trying to freeze myself? To make myself sick or something?"

"Were you?"

John supposed he should feel angry at the accusation implied, but he felt nothing but a detached sense of surprise. "I guess I was just wrapped up in my thoughts and I didn't realize the water was so cold. I think...I guess I'm starting to accept what happened and I'm trying to deal with it. I was so focused on that...I think I blocked out any physical reaction."

Kate looked thoughtful. "I suppose that could be what happened," she allowed.

"How can I prove it to you?" John didn't really care if she believed him or not, but he knew if Heightmeyer made ripples about it, it would affect him on every other level. His command dynamic would be affected most and John did not want that to happen.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens next, Major," Kate replied.

John wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Meaning...what? Exactly."

Kate studied him a moment, then said, "I'd like for us to do daily sessions, Major. To talk about everything that happened to you."

"What about the others? My team?" John shifted in the bed, feeling the tug of the IV in the back of his hand and resisting the urge to rip it out. But it was mainly a vague annoyance more than anything. A physical blip that barely registered.

"I'm trying to get them to agree to individual sessions," Kate allowed. "Dr. Weir has spoken to them, just this morning, about the fact that if they don't agree to get help, then they will be grounded...indefinitely."

John did not want to hear that. "I need them," he countered, his voice serenely calm. He felt as if he should feel upset about this, but he didn't feel anything. Not even angry. No regret. Nothing. Just the realization that he had to do something.

Kate sighed. "They need help," she stated. "You all do."

"I want to talk to them," John replied, shoving back the covers and attempting to slide out of bed. But Beckett must have been watching from the sidelines because, right on cue, he came striding forward.

"Don't even think about getting out of that bed, Major!" Carson admonished. "I haven't cleared you yet."

John sat back, allowing Beckett to draw the covers back over him, but then he held the doctor's gaze. "I'm fine...we both know that. What happened in the shower is just a fluke. It won't happen again. And I promise to do whatever you say. Just let me out of here so I can help my team."

Carson made a face then looked defeated. "All right, I'll release you after you have breakfast. But I want you to make sure you rest and eat and I want you to check in with me before bed time."

"I can do that," John allowed, offering a smile he didn't feel.

"We'll see," Carson countered, not looking hopeful. He turned to Heightmeyer. "Are you done with the major?"

She nodded. "For now. But I'll set up a time for sessions," she said to John.

John tried turning on the charm. "Look...I'm good. I am. I just want to help my team. Give me time to do that. I need time to be with them and feel them out. If something else happens, if I do something stupid, then we can set up sessions. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"True enough," Carson interjected, as he set about disconnecting John from the IV.

"Can you clear me for light duty?" John asked, suddenly. He realized he needed to be doing something. Maybe getting back into a familiar routine would help clear his head so that he could figure out what to do to help the others.

Carson didn't reply for a moment. He was sliding the IV needle out. He then checked the site and slapped a Band-Aid over it. He then stepped back, folded his arms over his chest and appeared to be considering John's request. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt if you did some paper work and the like," He allowed. "Just don't overdo anything."

John nodded, smiling, but still not feeling it. He supposed he should feel glad or relieved and on some level he understood that was what he was thinking. But he just didn't feel it. He still felt nothing but a calm detachment. But maybe that would be just the thing to allow him to help his teammates. "I'll behave myself," John promised. "Besides which, it's not like I'm fragile or breakable, so stop worrying and fussing, doc. Okay?" He meant it to be reassuring, only Beckett looked anything but.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure you know your own limitations, laddie," Carson replied, sounding resigned. "Now stay put and rest up. I'll send for a tray and after you eat...maybe…I'll send you off."

"Whatever you say," John replied, willing to do as requested. So he shifted around until he was comfortable and closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming about Sumner and the Wraith. Over and over, John replayed the moment he put a bullet in Sumner's head. But it was like watching a scene in a movie. He no long had an emotional connection to it. John wondered if, finally, he would be able to put all of his demons to rest.

John was finally released from the infirmary. The first thing he did was head to his room to shower and change. Then he went in search of Weir. He was pleased when she told him that Beckett had informed her about John being allowed to start up with light duty. The downside being that she had some reports she wanted him to go over, immediately. So John accepted them but, before leaving, he had to ask, "How's my team doing?"

"They've been better," Elizabeth allowed. "Teyla and Ford went to the mainland. She wanted to speak with Halling and to collect some more herbs for her tea."

"Maybe it will do them some good to get off Atlantis for a bit," John stated.

Elizabeth nodded, but she didn't look convinced. She looked frustrated and sad. "I hope so," she allowed.

John offered a smile that he didn't feel and said, "I take it Rodney is in his lab?"

"Last time I checked, yes," Elizabeth replied. She might have said more but her ear com clicked and she excused herself to answer it.

John simply left her office and headed for Rodney's lab. He found him working alone. "Where is everyone?" John queried, as he entered the room.

Rodney didn't look up from his laptop. "Working. Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

"I got released," John replied. "What are you working on?" He tried to peer over Rodney's shoulder.

"Nothing you'd understand!" Rodney snapped. "Go bother somebody else, Major! I'm busy!"

John didn't take offense. He didn't feel angry, he still didn't feel anything. But he could almost feel Rodney's anger and he wondered what caused it. "What are you so pissed at?" he asked.

Rodney flew off the stool he was sitting on, with such velocity that it toppled over. "I told you to leave me alone!" he snarled, blue eyes flashing as he confronted John.

"That's not going to happen, Rodney," John countered, firmly. "You know that. I want to help you."

"You can't help me! No one can help me...or Ford...or Teyla!" Rodney paced away from John, hands flailing as he spoke. "You seem better though." It came out like an accusation and Rodney turned to face John again. "I sat with you last night. No nightmares."

John shrugged. "I was pretty much sedated, Rodney."

Rodney's shoulders slumped, as if he were deflating. "Being sedated doesn't stop them," he whispered. "And I talked to Teyla. She said you were all calm and almost happy when you woke up."

"And that pisses you off?" John countered, suddenly catching on.

"YES!" Rodney was almost screaming. "I'm so tired of being afraid to close my eyes! I'm so damn tired of being TIRED! Why aren't you suffering anymore? Why did it stop for you?"

John moved to Rodney, locking eyes with the irate man. "I've just come to accept it as what it was, Rodney. An illusion. It can't hurt you if you don't let it."

Rodney stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking, right? What a bunch of bullshit!" He turned away and started pacing again. "Maybe if we knew why...maybe it would help."

"What do you mean?" John prompted, moving to step in front of Rodney so he would stop pacing.

"Why did they do it?" Rodney stated. "Teyla and Ford and I...we've talked about that. Wondering why they did that to us. What did they want?"

John frowned, wondering if maybe Rodney was losing his mind. He had told them what they had wanted. What that women had asked about over and over again. "They wanted the location to Earth," he said.

Rodney glared at him. "How did they know we could tell them?"

"Obviously they could read our minds." John stared at Rodney in confusion. It wasn't like the other man to be so obtuse.

"Who were they?" Rodney continued. "And why did they suddenly let us go? Was there just one of them? Was it just the woman who was real? Did you kill her? Was she actually real?" The questions bubbled out of Rodney as if he were unable to stop them.

John cut Rodney off by gripping his arm, he could see how much this was bothering his friend. "Maybe we can go back and find out," John offered. And maybe it would be the right thing to do. Maybe then the rest of his team could lay their demons to rest as well. "I'll ask Weir."

Rodney pulled away from John and returned to his laptop, bending down to pick up his toppled stool. "She won't let us go back," he muttered.

"Maybe not, but it won't hurt to ask." John moved back to Rodney's side. "I'll ask her right now." He patted Rodney on the shoulder and headed off, finally feeling as if there was something solid he could do to help his team.


	15. Chapter 15

Too all who have waited, patiently. Thanx. I'm having computer problems.  
But on to the next part.

* * *

John sat in the chair across from Weir's desk, eyes locked on her face as he explained his desire to return to the planet. He watched as she heard him out but he knew, even before she replied, what she was going to say.

"No, I'm sorry, Major," Elizabeth stated. "I can't allow you and your team to return."

"Why not?" John asked without any anger. He was distantly curious.

Rising from behind her desk, Elizabeth moved to stand before him, hip resting on the edge of the table top. "If you go back, what's to stop those people from messing with your minds again? From torturing you and your team? We have no defense against them."

John nodded. He understood what she was saying and why. In truth, he agreed with her. "We don't even know if they were real," he said, more to himself than to Weir.

"I'm sorry, John," Elizabeth said, and her eyes revealed her sincerity.

"I know." He let her off the hook, not wanting her to feel guilty about doing her job. "It's hard on the others...not knowing why it happened. Wondering what made them mess with us like that." He offered a wry smile. "That whole...we came in peace but they sent us back in pieces...thing."

Elizabeth nodded, looking regretful. "I've locked that address out of the gate. I think it's for the best."

John didn't disagree. "I'm sure it is. I'll tell Rodney, and I'll tell Ford and Teyla if it comes up." He pushed out of the chair and made for the door when she called him back. He turned to find her watching him with concern shadowing her eyes. "What?" he prompted.

"You said it's hard on the others," Elizabeth commented. "But what about you? You seem like you're okay now. Are you?"

"I think so," John replied, and he wanted to convince her that it was true. That he was alright, because he didn't feel anything anymore, not that he could tell her that. He just simply wanted Elizabeth to believe it, because he knew that she needed him to be okay.

Moving to his side, Elizabeth said, "Are you going to continue with group therapy?"

John nodded. "I think it's for the best." With that he smiled brightly then headed out. But John didn't go in search of Rodney. Instead he made his way to the gym and spent an hour beating the crap out of the heavy bag. He only stopped because his burning muscles began cramping and his legs were quivering too much to hold him. John had to sit on the floor for a time before he was able to return to his room. A long hot shower eased the cramps from his muscles, but he was still exhausted. Enough to curl up on his bed and drift into a dreamless sleep.

When John woke up he still felt tired, but he shook off his lethargy and left his room, making his way to the mess hall. Once there he realized he wasn't really hungry, but he grabbed a sandwich and made himself eat half of it. He wrapped up the other half and headed for Rodney's lab. McKay was in pretty much the same spot as he had been when John left him earlier. "I spoke to Weir," John said as he approached.

Rodney didn't look up from his laptop. "I know. She came to see me. She thought you had already discussed her decision. Imagine her surprise when she was the one to let me know she'd refused your request." There was clear accusation in Rodney's tone.

"Sorry I didn't get back to you," John apologized. "Do Ford and Teyla know?"

"They're not back yet. They called in to say they're spending the night on the mainland." Rodney stopped typing, lifting his head to glare at John.

John realized Rodney was angry with him and he knew it should bother him, but it didn't. He offered the other half of his sandwich. "Hungry?"

Rodney looked like he was going to refuse, but then he snatched the proffering and unwrapped it. After taking a big bite he said around it, "Any more brilliant ideas to fix us?"

"Fresh out of ideas at the moment, Rodney," John confessed. "But we'll figure something out."

"Well..." Rodney paused to swallow then turned back to his laptop. "Go figure on your own time, preferably somewhere else. I'm busy."

John took the hint to leave Rodney alone for now. He thought maybe he would check in with Beckett and ask his advice about what to try next, but instead John found himself wandering out onto the nearest balcony. He sat down next to the railing, knees drawn up, and watched the stars play out across the midnight sky. He found himself dozing off so he dragged himself back to his room and flopped face down on his bed without undressing or even removing his shoes. John drifted into a hazy darkness filled with shadowy dreams.

Ford and Teyla returned the next day. John ran into Teyla in the mess hall at breakfast and they chatted, amiably enough, about her trip. John then asked if she was feeling up to a sparring session and after her promised her he was feeling up to it and that Beckett didn't have him still grounded from such activity, Teyla agreed to meet him in the gym in an hour.

John left her then and headed out to find Ford. His 2IC was in the armory, taking inventory. John grabbed a clipboard and worked with him, asking about his trip to the mainland. He knew the trip hadn't helped when Ford's replies were short and clipped. There was tension in the air that John could sense. Ford was angry. "I asked Dr. Weir about going back to the planet," John said, conversationally. He watched Ford for a reaction and he got one.

Ford looked upset and scared. "What did she say?"

"She said no." John watched relief and frustration play across Ford's face. "I have to agree with her," John continued. "We were defenseless the last time, there's no way to protect ourselves from it happening again."

"I know." Ford's voice was hoarse and his slim body shuddered. "I don't want to go back, sir. I just want to understand why this happened. Why they did what they did to us!"

John reached out and clapped Ford on the shoulder, feeling the muscle clench under his hand. "I know. I wish I had answers for you. But we'll get through this, Lieutenant. Keep the faith."

Ford sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, fingers digging into his eyes as if to hold back tears. "Sounds good in theory, sir. But I can't take much more of this."

"You're stronger than you know," John stated firmly. He watched Ford's head lift and then the dark eyes were focused on him.

"Not so strong at all," Ford whispered. "Not like you."

John wished he could explain to him how to deal with this. He wished he could make it happen for Ford and Rodney and Teyla. But he didn't know how to do that. Not yet. A thought occurred. Maybe he could distract them for a while. "How about a group movie tonight? Just the four of us. I smuggled Monty Python and the Holy Grail with me."

Ford managed a shaky grin. "Cool movie, sir. Might be fun," he allowed. "Guess I'm in."

"Good." John smiled back, a curving of his lips that he didn't feel. "I'll tell Rodney and Teyla. Speaking of Teyla..." John glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment to get my butt kicked." Another smile then John was out the door.

After his session with Teyla, John felt like crawling into the shower. Not so much because he felt new aches and pains but because he was exhausted. But he stayed awake long enough to soap up, rinse off, get dried and slip on boxers and a tee shirt. Then he crawled under the covers and he didn't wake up until it was almost time to meet the others for the movie. John jumped in the shower again, the water cold enough to wash away his lingering fuzziness. He was glad he had asked Teyla to tell Rodney about the movie, otherwise McKay wouldn't have been informed. Plus he had made Teyla promise to make sure Rodney show up. She had a way of making Rodney do things without realizing he was doing them. Which translated into doing them with less bitching than normal.

After glancing at his watch, John dressed quickly in jeans and a long-sleeved dark t-shirt. He stuffed his feet into sneakers then ran his fingers through his damp hair before grabbing the DVD. He felt a hollowness in his stomach and realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it was long past suppertime. It occurred to John to wonder why no one had bothered him during all those hours, but he let it slide. His focus was on what he could do tonight to distract his team from their demons.

John was pleased to be the first one in the TV room. He set things up, which included making popcorn, and everything was ready when Ford showed up. Soon after, Teyla arrived with Rodney in tow. John gestured for them to sit, he passed out the popcorn, then he grabbed the remote. When the movie flicked on he moved to sit beside Teyla on the couch. No one talked as all eyes were glued on the big screen. John felt himself watching the movie and remembering all the funny bits without feeling the desire to laugh at them. Instead he found himself drifting off, his mind bringing up images of the tortures he had witnessed.

After a time those images faded and darkness encompassed John. He felt tired enough to slide into it.

"Major?"

John recognized the voice calling him as Teyla's, but he chose to ignore it.

But Teyla was persistent. "Major...are you alright?"

"Wh-what?" John croaked, peeling his eyes open. Only to realize that he was lying down with his head in Teyla's lap. She was leaning over him, her dark eyes clouded with worry. "Uh...I'm fine," John whispered, pushing himself upright. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Rodney stated, and he sounded annoyed.

John looked at the TV screen and realized the movie was over. "I'm sorry. Guess I was tired."

Rodney snorted. "Aren't we all? Must be nice to be able to sleep."

"Are you sure that you're all right, Major?" Teyla interjected, as she touched John's hand to draw his attention.

"I'm fine," he assured her, but it wasn't the complete truth. John felt weighted down, his muscles sluggish and his thoughts fuzzy in spite of the fact that he had pretty much slept the entire day away. But he forced a smile to reassure Teyla. "Guess I'm trying to catch up on all the sleep I've missed."

Rodney rose from the chair he had been ensconced in and moved to glare at John. "So what's the deal? Is Beckett slipping you better drugs than he gave the rest of us? Is that why you're suddenly sleeping like a baby?"

John thought of his dreams. Horrific images of the tortures, Sumner's death, other deaths from his past. He should have been shaking and slicked in a cold sweat like in the past, but there was nothing there but a slight dizziness and the clenching twist of his stomach. And both things John attributed to being way past starving. Although the sudden thought of food made him feel a bit nauseous. "I'm not on drugs, Rodney," John said quietly, meeting the other man's gaze. "I just...I've accepted what happened and I'm letting myself move past it. If I could help you do the same, I would."

"Right...sure. It's that simple!" Rodney's face turned red, a vein throbbed in his temple and he looked ready to explode. "It's not fair! " He snarled. "You should be suffering with the rest of us!

"Dr. McKay!" Teyla's tone was sharp and cutting and she looked angry as she glared at Rodney. Angry yet resigned.

John reached out to touch her arm. "It's okay," he said softly. "I don't blame Rodney for being pissed at me." And John meant it. He didn't blame Rodney, and he could see that Ford was feeling the same way as McKay. John could guess that Teyla had the same thoughts but wanted to suppress or deny them. A part of John rather hoped that maybe this anger would help his team. Maybe if they got pissed enough at him, if they had someone to direct their fear and anger at...maybe that would help them move past the trauma and they could finally start to heal. "Be as mad at me as you like," he told them. "Maybe we could do another group session with Kate and she could help you find a way to channel that anger into something productive."

Rodney laughed, a cold sound lacking humor. "Just where did you get your psychology degree, Major? A crackerjack box?" That said, Rodney turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Ford?" John was hopeful, but the kid just shook his head and left in Rodney's wake. John looked at Teyla. "It's okay to be mad at me," he whispered.

"No...I don't think that it is," Teyla replied. She looked sad and worn out as she rose to her feet and, silently, glided away.

Heaving a sigh, John got up as well. He retrieved his DVD, turned everything off then headed to his room. Once there he stripped down to his boxers and his t-shirt. Feeling a bit cold, John pulled on a pair of comfortable sweat pants and crawled into bed. He was still tired but a little too wired to sleep at the moment, so he grabbed War and Peace and started reading. Page 32.

Gradually the words blurred and he let his eyes close. John drifted into darkness and dreamed again. Only this time when he came awake he had to bite his lip until it bled to keep from screaming. Without conscious awareness, John made the lights come on even as he stuffed himself into the far corner of his room, heart thudding hard against his rib cage, skin slicked in a cold sweat, body trembling and his lungs burning as he tried to suck in air.

John rocked in his box, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the demons no one else could see or hear. Demons that danced in his head and mocked him with their laughter.


	16. Chapter 16

My thanks, in advance, for all the amazing FB. You guys are wonderful. :D

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The detachment was slipping away, but John clung to it with desperate tenacity. It was too hard feeling again. It took too much out of him, dreaming again and feeling the fear and the pain. Waking up shaking and terrified and trying to smooth away all evidence from his expression, eyes and voice. He didn't want anyone to know. He couldn't reveal his own fears, not when they were more intense than before.

John knew it hadn't been real. He reminded himself of that fact a thousand times a day. He managed to sound convincing when he was talking to Ford or Teyla and Rodney, but when he was alone, at night, stuffed into a corner of his room with the lights on as bright as they would go...John didn't believe a word. It had felt real.

He made it through four days of pretending. Hiding the truth from Heightmeyer was hardest. John knew she was always watching him, searching for signs, the way she did with his teammates. They couldn't hide the truth, but John knew he needed to keep the lie alive. If he broke then the others would surely shatter. They were so fragile right now, Ford most of all. But the sessions did seem to be helping Teyla. Or maybe it was the meditating she did. She had a strong spiritual belief and she relied on it now to get her through. Just this morning she had confessed to them all that she had managed to sleep the night through without waking in terror. And the one dream she did have did not affect her slumber.

Rodney had seemed out of sorts at hearing that and Teyla had offered to help him learn to meditate. He had scoffed at her and stalked out of the room. Ford had lingered behind, asking if Teyla would help him and they had left together. John had made to follow but Heightmeyer had cornered him. It had taken John over ten minutes to convince her that he was fine. He knew that his shields were slipping.

After escaping from Heightmeyer's clutches, John decided to hunt down Rodney. He wanted to do something, anything, to help him. So he entered the lab and parked himself next to McKay. "You're a man of science, right?" John asked.

"What?" Rodney looked up from his laptop to glare at John.

"You are a man of science," John repeated.

Rodney scowled at him. "Yes yes...of course I am. And you're asking me stupid questions why?"

John locked eyes with McKay. "What happened to us...we know it wasn't real. You can talk and you can think...that's reality. So anything else isn't real and you're smart enough to accept that. Even if it means through scientific awareness. Theorize what happened and why it terrifies you so much, Rodney. Hypothesis what you could do to make it less terrifying. To make it less real. Shred it apart scientifically. Do whatever it takes."

"Is that what you do?" Rodney snapped at him.

"In my own way," John replied, and it wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the exact truth either. He knew what had happened wasn't real, but that knowledge didn't make his dreams any less terrifying. But he was dealing with it the only way he knew how and he needed to help Rodney to find a way to do the same.

Rodney pushed away from the table and started pacing, hands wringing in front of him. "Do you play chess?" he asked, firing the question like a bullet from a gun.

John was surprised but nodded. "Yeah…I've been known to play."

"It's a very precise game." Rodney was still pacing. "I'm very good...hard to find anyone to challenge me."

"Is that an offer to try?" John interjected, because he knew that it was and because he sensed that this might be the breakthrough that Rodney needed.

Rodney stopped pacing. He kept his eyes on his twisted fingers as he replied, "I'm desperate."

John knew that feeling all too well. "Where do you want to play?" he countered.

"My room?" Rodney was hesitant.

"Sounds good, what time?" The time didn't really matter to John; it wasn't like he slept much anymore anyway.

Rodney went back to his stool, hunching over his laptop again as he mumbled, "Ten. Don't be late."

John knew he was being dismissed and he accepted it. As he headed out the door he felt a sense of relief. Like he was finally able to help someone. He knew that Teyla was helping herself and Ford but John had begun to feel like he was only making things worse for everyone and that Rodney would never find a way to deal with it. It felt good to feel hopeful again. But as John reached the hallway and stepped into a nearby transporter, he felt his chest tighten. By the time he hit the panel and the doors slid closed, he was dropping to the floor, panting and praying as wave after wave of panic washed over him.

John focused on a single goal, to step back through the gate.

His team was doing better. It had only been a week since he'd started playing Chess with Rodney nightly, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Rodney was finding a way to deal with his demons. Teyla's meditation was helping her and she was helping Ford work through his issues as well. In the group sessions, which were daily now, everyone was talking. Even John was talking, saying everything he was supposed to say. But his demons were still haunting him.

So he fought back by pushing himself. He wanted his team to go on a mission. Convincing Heightmeyer and Beckett had been easy, convincing Weir...not so much. But John wasn't foolish or stupid. He knew they couldn't risk falling apart in the field so he scoured the daily reports and asked that he and his team be allowed to make the trade run to M7X-564. They had been trading there for almost a year and nothing amiss ever happened. It was a peaceful planet with people who were happy to trade with them.

With Heightmeyer backing him up, John finally got Weir to agree to the mission. He was smiling as he entered the rec room where his team was waiting for him. It was movie night again; this time Ford had picked Star Wars. John was curious to see what Teyla's reaction would be to the movie. If he managed to stay awake for it. He wasn't sleeping or eating properly and he knew it was taking its toll on him. Which was why he believed going on this mission was so important. For all of them. They needed to get back into a familiar routine. He needed it.

The moment he stepped into the room, three pairs of eyes locked on him. "It's a go," John stated, not keeping them in suspense. "So no late night tonight." This said as he slipped into his spot on the couch, next to Teyla.

"Guess we'd better start the movie then," Ford said, as he grabbed the remote.

"Where's the popcorn?" Rodney asked.

Teyla smiled as she held out the bowl Ford had hidden away earlier. She then looked at John. "Are you all right, Major?" she asked, her eyes shadowed with concern.

John saw the way Teyla was watching him and he put on a smile and nodded. "I'm good. I'm excited about tomorrow. It'll be good to go back through the gate."

"I find myself looking forward to it," Teyla allowed. "I need to know if I have truly managed to put my demons to rest."

"It's not that simple," John cautioned. "They haven't disappeared, you've just kind of locked them away."

Teyla nodded, offering an understanding smile. "I do know."

Ford shushed them as he settled into a beanbag style chair. "Movie's starting."

John thought the lights off then settled into the corner of the couch. He let himself be distracted by the movie and found himself enjoying it, watching through Teyla's eyes. She found it intriguing and surprising and wondrous. When it ended she seemed pleased when Ford told her there were two more parts to the movie and that they could watch them soon.

"I'm going to bed," Rodney stated, setting aside the empty popcorn bowl. He looked distracted and a bit anxious and he stood up and headed for the door.

"You okay?" John asked, intercepting him.

Rodney nodded. "Fine...fine. But I have some things to do in the lab. See you at the gate in the morning." With that he was gone.

John let him go, turning to Ford. "How about you, lieutenant? You okay about tomorrow?"

"I'm nervous," Ford conceded, but kind of excited too. I've missed going through the gate."

"Me too." John had never meant anything more, yet he felt how strained his smile was. "You should get some sleep," he said softly.

Ford nodded.

Teyla approached and touched Ford's arm. "Shall we meditate before you go to your room?" she asked.

"I'd like that," Ford replied.

"I'll leave you to it then," John said, nodding a goodnight to Teyla. He watched her and Ford sink to the floor to sit Indian style, envying them for a moment. They seemed to have found a sense of inner peace that eluded him. But he would not begrudge them this, so John slipped silently out the door. He didn't go to his room though. Instead he headed for the nearest balcony, seeking solace in the stars above, wishing he could send his demons into hell so that his soul was free to fly again.

To John's surprise, he managed to sleep for three hours straight without dreaming. Not enough to be rested, but enough sleep by his standards of late to allow him to put on a good front when he met his team at the gate. Weir was there to send them off and John studied his companions. They all looked as nervous as he felt; yet their eyes glowed with anticipation. John felt certain that they would be able to complete the mission and that it would help in healing them. So he smiled at Weir and waved before sending his team through the gate. But when he reached the puddle, John hesitated. His stomach clenched into knots and he felt a wave of dizziness that he locked his knees against. It passed quickly, but John felt the prickle of panic that made him catch his breath. But he fought the battle and won, sucking in a deep breath before stepping through the gate and exhaling softly as he reached the other side.

They were greeted by the Telarians, who had been expecting them, and John clamped down on the cold spike of panic that bolted through him and plastered a smile on his face. He went through the motions of pleasantry with Leader Prang, accepting and invitation to dine with them and even managing to eat enough bites to make it look like he enjoyed the meal between the small talk. Then they did their trading and bid the Telarians goodbye until next time.

John felt somewhat detached from what was happening, but he did notice that his team seemed to be dealing well with the outing. Rodney ate like a starving man and managed to make sarcastic comments that drew laughter instead of anger from their hosts. Teyla and Ford had both seemed relaxed and at ease and John saw that Ford was still smiling as he dialed the gate for the journey home.

But none of that registered as anything more than a peripheral awareness. In spite of the fact that nothing had gone wrong and he and his team were not in any danger, John found the images of their torture replaying over and over in his head and if caught in a loop. And with the images came the feelings of frustration and anger and remembered pain. It took all of John's self control to keep it together and by the time he stepped back onto Atlantis, his head ached fiercely and every muscle in his body felt as taut as a bowstring. He felt wired and anxious and it was hard to keep a level tone as he assured Weir all was well. But he saw the relief on her face as she studied them, seeing that they were fine. At least Rodney, Teyla and Ford were fine, or seemed to be. John envied them that.

"Major, feel up to a debrief before you hit the infirmary for your post check up?" Elizabeth queried.

"That's fine," John replied, automatically, and for a moment he thought he might have said the wrong thing because she eyed him with concern shadowing her eyes. "What?" he asked, his tone too sharp to his own ears. John realized he was being defensive for no reason.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Nothing...you just look a little tired."

John shrugged, the movement choppy because his shoulders were tight with the tension that was vibrating through him like an electric current. He could feel the anxiety prickling at him, just under his skin, taunting him with its presence, like an itch he couldn't scratch. "I'm fine," he said, softening his voice.

"Okay...my office then?" Elizabeth was already turning to climb the stairs, even as she asked.

John followed her up the stairs an into her office, standing at attention as she moved to sit behind her desk. "Long story short, it went well."

Elizabeth nodded. "Good. And what about your team? They handled it okay?"

"I think so. They seemed to enjoying themselves at the feast." John managed to keep a smile on his face, but the effort cost him. Pain throbbed in his temples and he clenched both hands into fists at his sides to keep himself from trying to rub away the pain.

"Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked.

John felt his smile falter. "I'm fine. Are we done?" It was getting harder and harder to lie.

Elizabeth nodded, but she looked troubled. "We're done."

"Catch you later," John threw over his shoulder, as he headed out the door. And he could feel Elizabeth's eyes boring into his back until he was out of sight. The last thing John wanted to do was deal with Beckett, but he knew if he blew off the infirmary, Beckett would call Elizabeth and they would call him on it. So he tried to steady his breathing as he made his way to the infirmary. John didn't even try to smile as he entered the main area to find Beckett waiting for him.

"I've sent everyone else off," Carson said, patting one of the tables. "They checked out fine."

John realized Beckett was answering the question that must have been in his eyes. "They did good out there," John said, as he slid onto the gurney. "I think this was a good thing." He wanted to believe that, he wanted to believe with every fiber of his being.

Carson studied John, frowning. "Are you all right, Major? You look a bit pale."

"Headache." John knew better than to lie about that, besides which he wanted some relief and he had to admit to the ill in order to get the pills to relieve it.

"Bad?" Carson asked as he pulled out his penlight and flashed it in John's eyes.

John had to hide a wince. "Just...annoying," he replied, settling on being as truthful as he felt was prudent. He did not want to be stuck here.

Carson nodded, pocketing the penlight. "I'll get you some aspirin. Hold on a minute." He disappeared and was back shortly, holding out a bottle with half a dozen white pills. "Take two at a time, every four to six hours. If the headache doesn't let up, you get yourself back here, Major."

"Will do." John accepted the bottle and slid off the gurney. He managed a weary smile before patting Beckett on the shoulder and making his way out of the infirmary. John stepped into the nearest transporter and the moment the doors slid shut he fumbled with the bottle. Shaking three pills into his palm, John tossed them into his mouth, crunched them and swallowed. Nasty taste but he was desperate for relief and it wasn't the first time he'd taken aspirin dry.

When the doors slid open, John stepped out and headed for his room. He started stripping the moment he was inside. Soon he was standing under a hot spray of water, willing the tension to leave his aching body, willing his heartbeat to settle back into a steady rhythm. He couldn't fall apart, he didn't have that luxury.

By the time the water ran cold, John felt more in control. He was bone tired but too wired to sleep so he pulled on sweats and headed for the gym. It was empty and he was relieved. Moving to the heavy bag in the corner, John didn't bother with bag gloves, he just started punching it. He put all of his focus into every swing, channeling the anxiety into hit after hit after hit. He slammed each fist into the bag with rapid succession; barely slowing down even when every muscle in his body felt like it was burning. It was better to burn with the pain than let the panic consume him.

Sweat slicked his body, dripping from his hair to slide down his face like cold tears. Sweat slicked his fists; feeling like blood and John staggered and fell out of the rhythm, body shuddering and knees buckling so that he crumpled to the floor. His hands were shaking and he stared at them, seeing the red wetness that covered his knuckles, spreading over his skin and staining it. Blood...so much blood.

John wiped his hands on his thighs but the blood remained, burning into his flesh like a brand and the screams of pain echoed in his ears. So much blood and so much pain. The memory of it rocked John like a blow. He was so caught up in the memories that he didn't hear Teyla call his name. He didn't see the fear in her eyes as she knelt beside him. He didn't feel her hands touch his face.

There was nothing but blood and screams and fear. They wrapped around John like a shroud, choking him, suffocating him...

So loud...too loud...John begged for forgiveness.

"...couldn't save you...couldn't save...sorry...sorry...so sorry...forgive me...couldn't save you...couldn't save you..."

Teyla held John tight, feeling the tremors that rocked him, hearing the sorrow in his whispered litany, his pain tugging at her heart. She radioed for Dr. McKay and Ford to come to the gym, knowing that they would be the ones to help the major get through this. Knowing that no one else could understand his pain or his fear. That no one else knew what demons haunted him now.

John didn't see Rodney and Ford enter the gym at a run. He didn't hear Rodney contact Weir and tell her to send Beckett. He didn't feel the support and the warmth of his team as they surrounded him, offering their strength and protection, wrapping him in their understanding. He was trapped in a cold darkness, drowning in a sea of blood even as he shattered into pieces from their screams.

He came to awareness in stages, like tiny footsteps out of the dark and into and ever brightening light.

John remembered Teyla sitting next to him, holding his hand and singing softly to him. He remembered Ford filling him in on all the gossip and telling really bad jokes. He remembered the sound of Rodney's fingers tapping at his laptop even as he tried to engage John in a game of Prime, not prime. And he remembered Elizabeth reading to him from War and Peace. So it was no surprise to John to find her dozing in the chair next to his bed, the book sprawled across her lap. He blinked away the shadows and simply watched her for a time.

Elizabeth seemed to sense she was being watched. She caught the book as she sat up then she looked at him and smiled. "Hello, John. It's good to see you awake."

He nodded, not trusting his voice to work because his throat felt dry and sore. She seemed to know that and stood up to grab a glass of water. She held it for him but John took it from her, using both hands. He took a sip then gave it back. "Thank you," he said, his voice still a bit raspy, as if from disuse. And that made him wonder. "How long?"

"Eight days."

"Eight days," he echoed. Too long. Too much time to lose. "I'm sorry." John held her gaze as he said it.

Elizabeth smiled at him, warm and bright. "It's okay. Take all the time you need, Major. We can wait."

John wished that were true, but he knew Atlantis needed him. "Maybe I can't wait," he countered.

"Don't push yourself so hard, John," Elizabeth chastised him. "And please...don't beat yourself up about what happened. You earned that melt down and it was a long time coming."

"I guess it was." It was truth John could acknowledge now. He could see in Elizabeth's eyes that she didn't judge him for this. But he still hated knowing he wasn't strong enough. John closed his eyes until strong fingers squeezed his.

Elizabeth was glaring at him. "Don't do that!" she snapped at him. "Don't think you're weak because of this. You're the strongest man I know. You helped your team deal with what happened to them, now it's time to deal with your own demons. And we all have them."

John knew that better than anyone. "Some are darker than others," he whispered. When he met Elizabeth's gaze, he knew that she understood that and that it didn't matter to her. So maybe John could let it go. Maybe. He knew it was going to take time. He also knew he wasn't going to have to do this alone.

"Rest," Elizabeth said firmly. "I'm going to get Carson."

"Okay." John closed his eyes, but before she could turn and walk away he said, "I'm going to be alright."

Elizabeth looked surprised, and then she smiled. "I know."

John realized he knew it too.

THE END

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To everyone who gave FB, thank you so much. You kept me motivated. FYI…I ended it this way purposely. There's no easy fix for this and there's no pill or quick cure. Just know that John will heal as time goes by and the others will give him the support he needs, and he'll continue to do the same for them in return. It's all about teamwork. 


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